Which of the boys from Holbook Academy would you want to date?

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Waterworld. In my Kitchen.

So in an interesting turn of events, that isn't so much interesting as it is making me wonder what exactly I did to piss off whatever Powers That Be into screwing my live over: last night my kitchen was under two inches of water.

Not even a full week after I have my laptop back and I am able to resume work (able does not necessarily mean I actually did..) and with my bank account limping along and glaring at me with daggers of hate; my washing machine decides to up and die. But seeing as this is my life and nothing is that simple, instead of just dying with some dignity it decided to take my kitchen down with it.

For those of you who haven't read my bio, prior to becoming the fabulous novelist that I am today (he says with a grin hoping you'll believe it), I was working full time as a dog trainer. Because I worked from and out of my home my living room has long since been converted into a kennel for boarding dogs. I still board dogs now and again for regular clients who have been using me for years and tip generously (word to wise: I can totally be bought.) This on top of the fact I have five dogs of my own and Roommate has two (all of them 50 or more pounds, because I'm a masochist apparently) means I do a fair amount of laundry any given week. Last night I decided it was time to strip down my bed and wash my sheets and blankets. I do this on a semi regular basis, but probably not as often as I should.

I throw in my one set of sheets for my queen sized bed (how I have managed to live with only a single set of sheets is probably a question best left for science to answer a hundred years from now) grab a few kennel towels and get the washer going. I head back to my room which also doubles as my work space office (I have the master bedroom in the house, suck it, Roomie!) and go back to pretending to be hard at work (okay okay last night I did actually write.) Forty-five minutes later I wander back out to the kitchen. (Just to clarify here, my "laundry room" is a glorified closet with a washer and dryer in it that is right off the kitchen near the front entrance to the house.) And I a standing in two inches of water.

More importantly, I am standing in two inches of water that is every where. I had this moment of shock and dismay, where I just sort of stood in this giant pool of water that was spreading further and further and just stared at it. Amazed by the fact it existed at all.

The pool of water covered the whole of the kitchen, and into the small dinning room area. The kennel which most people would call a living room (but is only lived in by dogs and their crates hence the title of "kennel") was slowly being ebbed away at by water as well. It was under the stove. The fridge. The dryer. It was so deep that as I stood there staring at it with wide eyed wonder, my shoes soaked through and my feet became wet and cold. Still, I could not fathom how in the hell so much water had arrived inside my house.

This moment of astonishment didn't last long and was quickly followed with a series of curse words that were probably not entirely English in origin. I scrambled on top of the washer and tried turning off the water supply. That did not work. Because I couldn't decide which directly to twist the knobs to in fact shut off the water. So in desperation I yanked the washer's power out of the socket and pulled open the lid (which causes everything in it to stop). Staring down into my washer I can see it is literally full to the brim with soapy, dirty water and my sheets and blankets are floating in the water completely innocent.

I am at this point in this adventure, completely at a loss as to what to do. Normally when something floods you go "Oh crap!" and grab all the towels and soak it up. The problem with this flood was it was so vast I did not have even remotely enough towels to even begin soaking it up. In fact if I had simply started putting downs down on the ground it would have been pointless. Like trying to mop up lake eerie with some Bounty (okay not that bad, but you get the idea.) So I just stood there, feet soaking wet (which I'm sure was an excellent thing to put my body through while still recovering from a plague), staring at everything with what amounted to my mouth open and noises of dumbfounded-ness  sputtering on my lips.

After several moments of doing my best impersonation of a car that won't start, I finally pulled my phone out of my back pocket and called the only person I could think of who might have answers: Steve.

Steve is a very good friend of mine. We once upon a time were some what romantically involved. When were both young and stupid. We have recently reconnected and spend a lot of our time doing dates-that-aren't-dates. Meaning we do everything one would do on a date, but we declare it not-a-date. It's a some what complicated relationship in which we are quite clearly very good for one another, but neither of us are keen on being invested in anything that could be construed in anyway shape or form as serious. But the most important thing about Steve (other then the fact he is kind of super hot) is that he is a handy man.

Steve answers the phone with a delighted: "Dean!"

And I start in a rush: "Hey! Look I know your facebook status said you weren't having a swell day, but can I one up you right now and beg for your help?"

He gets noticably more calm and I can't hear the smile in his voice any more. "Yeah sure, man, what's wrong?"

"My washer flooded my house and I'm standing in two inches of water and I have no freaking clue what I am supposed to do about any of it. Help!" I say it all in a single rush of air, so fast I barely make any sense even to myself.

"Well start getting the water cleaned up and I will be there soon as I can!" He hangs up with out bothering to ask what I need, or anything else for that matter.

I feel much better realizing that help is coming. Which lasts about half a second before I realize I have to start getting this mess cleaned up and I don't have the first clue where to start. I knew what needed to be done, but the task was daunting, I couldn't fathom at which end to start. After a while of sloshing around in a tiny circle of "ahh!" "hmm" "nerr" and "UGH!" I picked up a broom, opened the front door and started sweeping.

That's right. I started sweeping water out of my house through the front door. This caused a considerable amount of splashing to go about, but it was surprisingly effective. All those years I worked in dog kennels before becoming a full time private trainer, had taught me well about how to move large bodies of water during clean up. I muttered to myself about the injustice of the world and went about getting a significant sum of the water out into the great outdoors and NOT inches deep in my kitchen.

Steve arrived just as I concocted a genius plan involving a small hose, putting to use my powers of suction (yes you were supposed to go there with that comment) and gravity to drain the water that was sitting in the washer. Because I knew he was going to have to move the washer to look at it fully and see what exactly went wrong (other then everything, which was what I had determined was the problem.)  He came into my house and looked around and looked at me wet from the ankle down with the door wide open on a winter day and just smiled in that endearing way he has.

"So your house really did flood." He says offering me a warm hug and a soothing pat on the back.

"I told you!" I say, eying him and mentally just daring him to doubt me again.

"Yeah but I had no idea it would be this bad. Good move on the hose by the way." He helped me lay down some towels around the areas that had thinned out further in the house and then pulled out the washer once it was drained.

In a bold move he determined nothing was wrong. So we tried it again, chalking it up to having over flowed due to being over filled. Cue my panicked reaction when it began flooding the house again. I shrieked in what I assure you was a very manly fashion that it had to be stopped. I also jumped around in a circle waving my arms frantically. It was all very butch, I promise.

Steve cut the water and looked at me in bewilderment. In a sweeping declaration I announced the Washer was dead to me, and I was buying a new one. He laughed and helped me resume sweeping water out of the house. There was a lot of talk about how none of this cold and wet was probably any good for the cold I had been suffering the last week. And one incident of the two of us chasing my one eyed cat, Hawkeye, around the undercarriage of my truck after he escaped from the house. But eventually the water was under control, though every step I took was met with a SQUISH sound from soaked towels and blankets under my feet.

Oh did I forget to mention that? Yeah I ran out of towels pretty quickly. So I had to resort to blankets. And the sheets I had been intending to wash in the first place? They were soaked and worthless. The end result was when I eventually got things together was there was a large pile of soping wet towels and blankets in the front of my house. Not the sight, I assure you, I wanted my minimal number of neighbors to see. Or the client who came by to drop off their dog. I explained I was hapless and washerless after it flooded my house. They were understanding. I was annoyed.

I spent the night in a sleeping bag on my bed. I didn't sleep much because I spent the whole night freaking out in an OCD kind of way about the sheer volume of WET that was all over my house. I spent most of the day pacing the house unable to do anything to sort it out because the new washer (ordered last night shortly after I declared the former occupant of the job deceased) didn't arrive until this evening. Roommate had to multiple times steer me back to work, or out to do something with my time. Because I was driving every occupant of the house crazy with my innane pacing. I couldn't began to put my house back in order until the wash could be done.

I have now done three loads of laundry. And have plenty more to go, I assure you. But my sheets are back on my bed. And I will be able to get some sleep tonight. Maybe. There is still a significant amount of washing to be done...

This is my life. As a good friend once said to me "Man, you don't just do things. You have freaking adventures." She isn't wrong.











Saturday, November 24, 2012

Here have some proof of Life

So if you follow my Facebook Page (which is here conventially for your benefit) you know that I had some serious computer issues this past week. As it turns out, it was a near miss for losing everything I've been working on for the last two years. Note to self: Back your shit up, Dean. 

The Guys at the local Geek Squad were able to not only fix the software issue (a corrupted file during a windows update that basically wiped my computer) they were able to save all of my work. My photos and the 40 gigs of music I have collected over the last decade or so. So with much joy I return to the internet world a non-broken man. And with everything intact. As a reward to you, and to myself, I am posting the first chapter of the first book of the Werewolves of Portland series. Just so you can enjoy it. This is raw format, very little proof reading or editing has been done. Just roll with it!

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As a child I was never afraid of the dark. I never slept with a night light. I never feared the things that go bump in the night. I know better now…

Chapter 1: Training Day


I don’t know if apprehensive is the right word for what I was feeling. Standing in the middle of a new squad room, staring at desk after desk, arranged two by two facing one another. I was out of place. The people around me were in suits, ties, the occasional skirt, but their clothes are rumpled, there are stains on the shirts and awkward creases in the pants. I look down at my clean pressed pants, and the crisp new shirt I bought the night before for my first day: my first day as a detective. My hair is brushed, and clipped back, and washed. Making me stand out even further.

I don’t belong here.” I murmur to myself, brushing a spec of dirt from my neatly pressed pants. I had worked hard to get here, but it didn’t feel like I had imagined.

You Roberts?” A gruff voice said behind me.

I squared my shoulders and turned to face him. He was taller than me, but came up short for the average man. He had hard lines on his face, and a leathery quality to his skin suggesting he’d spent too much time outside and at the bottom of a carton of cigarettes.

I put on my best professional smile and offered him my hand. “Yes, Sir. You are Detective Lloyd I assume?”

Don’t assume anything.” He stated, staring at me with out bothering to look at my out stretched hand.

I took it back, and rubbed my palm against my pant leg. “Right, could you point in the direction of ---“

I’m Detective Lloyd.” He said it the same way he’d said everything else, as if he shouldn’t have had to say anything at all.

He rubbed his hand against he jacket, it was rumpled and there was a day old ketchup stain on the cuff. As his hand passed over his breast pocket, searching for something, I could make out the line of a package of cigarettes tucked there. There was yellowing on his fingertips and the smell of day old smoke wafted from his clothing.

You got a pen?” He asked eyeing me sharply from an untrimmed brow. His hair was a bit too long to fit with in regulation, but he had the look of someone who hadn’t cared what the regs said in quite a while.

Oh, uh, yes, Sir.” I fumbled into my pocket and fished out a pen, offering it out to him.
He took it from me and eyed it , almost as if he was studying it.

What is this?”

A…pen, Sir…” I said, looking around me. I wondered if any one else was seeing the exchange.

No. This is some cheap dime store version of a pen. Costs what ten cents for a hundred of these?” He tossed the pen at me.

I caught it, but not before it bounced off my chest.

Get yourself a real pen. Something that will write on anything. Never want to be with out a good pen, got it? Spend more then ten cents.” He grabbed something out of his pocket and handed it out towards me. It was a sleek, black pen, with a gold clip and engraved lettering on the side. J.L. “Here. Use this one till you can get your own.”

I took the pen and felt the weight of it. I had known paperweights that were lighter. When I uncapped it the point was two prongs of jointed metal that flowed ink between them. The tiny engraved plate on the underside of the pen said it was made by an Italian company and imported. It looked and felt expensive.

Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Stop with the sir, Detective. I am your senior officer, not your boss and not your drill sergeant. Besides it makes me feel old, and I am not that old. You can call me Jack, let’s go.” He motioned for me to follow him as I saw his hands remove the package of smokes from his breast pocket. He had a cigarette tucked between his lips so quickly I didn’t even see him shake it from the pack.

Yes S—Jack.” I hurried after him, tucking the weighted pen into my pocket. I dropped the other one off in a cup full of like-minded pens and half broken pencils sitting on someone’s desk. I had to lengthen my stride to catch up to him. “Si—Jack, where exactly are we going?”

Caught a case, Roberts. Robbery-homicide on a hundred and twenty first.” Jack answered me, as he pushed past double doors that fed into a stairwell.

I grunted as the door swung back, and I caught it with my elbow. It was heavier then I expected. I shot Jack’s back a dirty look as I followed him down the stairs. He didn’t look back at me, just kept going. He took the stairs rapidly, his feet moving quickly enough I struggled to keep up with him.

Shouldn’t we tell someone where we’re going?” I asked, catching some air as we rounded the last corner to the bottom floor of the division.

You got a babysitter I don’t know about, Roberts? They told me you were young, but I thought for sure you could at least go out with out your mommy’s permission.” Jack paused as he exited the building, tucking his head against cupped hands. A lighter had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and he was lighting up as he sheltered the flame from the wind.

My mother’s dead.”

Jack paused, he looked at me; I was two steps behind him on the carved front staircase of the building, which put me over eye level. I looked down at him with my jaw set firmly. I was prepared for the ribbing, the harassment even. I knew it was the price I would pay being the new guy in the bull pen. But I hadn’t been prepared for my new partner to start dishing it out so quickly. Christ, we hadn’t even made it to the car.

Well, damn. I’m sorry about that, Detective. Rough break.” I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere, his face didn’t look any different to me. His eyes stared at me clear, crisp in color that didn’t match the faded grays showing up in his unevenly cut hair.

Yeah. It was.” I picked up a steady pace down the remaining steps to the sidewalk. I stared at the row of unmarked police cars in front of me. “Which one?”

Jack cleared his throat, and I could smell the smoke of cigarette approach from behind me. He pointed around me so I could see his hand indicate a dark colored Dodge Charger from the 70’s. I glanced over my shoulder at him.

Your car?”

My car.” Jack exhaled a puff of smoke and headed for the vehicle.

I followed him the dark color turned out to be a deep shade of blue that unless the light was on it directly would probably turn up black by most eyes. The interior was aged, but the leather was in decent condition. I had to kick aside several paper wrappers from fast food joints as I settled in the passenger seat.

You clearly maintain a very healthy lifestyle.” I flicked a balled up wrapper from some place with a smiling hamburger as the logo at him.

It’s part of my religion.” Jack turned the car over and the engine roared loudly, settling into a low-pitched purr as he put it into gear and pulled out onto the busy New York streets.

What religion is that? Die from heart failure before you’re 50?” I pulled out a small notebook I kept in my pocket and glanced over the notes I’d made for myself on the front page. I was three weeks out of Detective training, and couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Eat what I want, drink what I want, smoke what I want, fuck what I want. Die happy.” Jack flipped on his sirens once we were squarely in a driving lane.

Does that include being an ass to your new partner?” I glanced at him briefly before turning my head back to my notes. “You knew about my mother.”

What makes you so sure I did?” He asked, twisting the big car around a corner fast enough I had to brace my hand against the dashboard.

Because no cop with a record like yours gets there with out doing his homework. You’re too good at what you do to let some new comer like me get the better of you. My guess is you heard you were being partnered with me, heard about my record and decided to check for yourself. So that means not only did you know about my mother, you brought it up just to see what I would do.” I closed my notebook and pocketed it. “So, did I pass?”

Mmm?” Jack grunted taking another sharp turn.

Whatever test it was you were giving me, did I pass?” I braced my hand against the dash as he suddenly whipped the car over to the side of the street, double-parking in front of a small bodega that was flooded with uniformed cops.

Time to get to work, Detective. Put your game face on.” Jack got out of the car and spat the remainder of his cigarette onto the pavement, crushing it with the toe of his work boots. He then bent and picked it up; pinching it between two fingers he deposited it carefully inside his pocket.

We ducked under the crime scene tape and headed for the front door of the corner shop.


Inside the bodega was as stuffed with police personnel as the outside.
They were milling around taking pictures of just about everything,
and stepping carefully to avoid messing up anything that could
possibly turn out to be evidence. The crime scene techs were bent over
themselves picking at pieces of glass and debris, plucking this piece
and leaving that one. I did not envy them their jobs.


Detectives!” A young voice said. I was surprised when the man who waved us over didn’t look much older than I was, but there was a deep scar on the side of his face that looked like he’d come up on the wrong side of a knife fight a few years ago.
Ben.” Jack greeted him, holding his hand out to shake the younger man’s.

Ben smiled at Jack, the greeting warm and familiar. Jack turned to point me out, and I stepped up closer to the two men.

Officer Benjamin Kessler this is Detective Amy Roberts. She’s new.” Jack’s fingers slid down the front of his suit jacket, and fumbled with something in his pockets.

I pulled out the pen he had given me earlier and held it in such a way he could opt to take it or not while I studied the younger Officer Kessler. He was taller than Jack, which made him considerably taller than I was. His hair was a light sandy blonde that was tamed only by virtue of the close military crop. He had the build of someone who spent had spent his high school years playing football. He didn’t look old enough to have been legally drinking long, so he probably still played with his friends when off duty. His uniform fit him well, and it didn’t have any permanent wrinkles in it yet, suggesting he was new to the job. Sort of like me.

It’s nice to meet you, Officer.” I said shaking his hand. His grip wasn’t firm, given I had seen his shake be firm and lasting with Jack, I suspected he was taking it easy on me. I squeezed his hand firmly, just to make a point.

A pleasure, Detective. I see Jack hasn’t run you off yet.” Kessler said with a lopsided grin that formed dimples in his cheeks. I was willing to bet his charm worked on more than one woman in the department.

It’s still morning.” I pulled my hand back and reached into my pocket to pull out my notebook. Jack hadn’t taken his pen back.

Enough with the small talk.” Jack grumbled from over near the heart of the scene.
I smiled politely at Ben and headed to heel Jack as he looked at the victims.

There were two, both young men. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, putting them at not much younger then myself, or older than Officer Kessler. One was on his stomach, the other his back, legs tangled through one another. There was blood pooling around both of them, and spreading towards the further interior of the store. One man had a package of donoughts clutched in his fist as he lay belly down on the floor. There was debris all around them, broken glass from the display case near the register that had spread across the floor. And bits from the end cap displays of the three aisles in the tiny store. They were arranged in a sort of Y shape where their legs met over one another amongst the mess.

What’s your diagnosis, Roberts?” Jack said, crouching down near the head of one of the victims.

I raised my head from staring at the death before me. This wasn’t the first time I had seen a dead body, but it never sat right with me. There was something about a lifeless body that was unnatural, deeply. It didn’t look right, nothing about a body with out life in it was natural, or something you get used to. I’ve heard tales about cops getting hardened to that image, I think that’s what Hollywood says to justify not spending any time showing their cops in therapy. In reality any one with a soul never gets hardened to the image of a corpse.

But I knew that as much as a body could tell you, the rest of the scene could tell you as much if not more. I glanced around me, squaring my shoulders and stretching my neck to see around a few uniforms.

What caught my attention was the register at the front of the store. I stepped away from the bodies to study it up closer. I dodged a puddle of something green and sticky looking on the floor as I rounded the edge of the register counter. On the floor sat the register, over turned and looking as if it had been kicked and beaten open. The lose change was scattered around it and a couple of stray ones were stuck in the open drawer.

Robbery wasn’t the motive here.” I said after taking a deep breath.

What makes you so sure of that, Detective?” Jack was standing behind me; I hadn’t realized he’d followed me. My back stiffened a little as I felt him breathing down my neck to stare over my shoulder at what I was seeing.

Well, wouldn’t it be easier to get into the cash register with a cashier? Rather than busting it open with probably the end of the shot gun used on the two vics.” I pointed at the way the register was sitting on the ground, on it’s side with the drawer open but off it’s hinges. “It was obviously pushed off, but there is no evidence from the debris that any one was standing there when it happened. And the first vic, the guy on his belly. He’s holding a package of donuts, when’s the last time you saw someone grab a hostess snack when begging for their lives?”

Jack glanced back at the man with the donoughts and raised one of his thick eyebrows. He swept a hand through his shaggy hair and I noticed a streak of grey starting just above his temple.

Huh.” Was his only comment.

The perp—“ I started, but Jack interrupted.

What makes you think it’s not one?” He had both hands hooked in the loops of his pants, which were a dark washed pair of jeans that I had mistaken for dirty slacks earlier.
If there were was more than one he wouldn’t have let the teller escape out the back. More control, less mayhem. No reason to come in shooting, which is exactly what he did…” I stepped past Jack back around the counter, pointing towards the door we had come in through with the end of the pen he had given me. “He came right through that door and shot Mr. Snack Attack in the back, the second guy dropped what he had in his hand and begged for his life. As there are no other victims, I’m guessing he was the actual target.”

Why do you assume it was a man?” Jack was behind me again, he smelled vaguely of stale cigarettes and some kind of cologne, it wasn’t strong; it had a mild, even pleasant smell.

Shot gun. They tend to have a pretty rough kick, and this guy had enough control to fire it twice with out losing his victim…suggests a lot of upper body strength and familiarity with the fire arm. Generally speaking women have lower upper body strength, and don’t make a habit of a familiarity with shot guns. Also violent crime of this nature is generally committed by a male perp, women who shoot men typically shoot their lovers, or someone close usually in close quarters… I could be wrong.” I shrugged both of my shoulders and glanced at Jack. “But I doubt it.”

Confident. They told me that about you.” Jack almost looked like he wanted to smile; the expression seemed to tug at the hard lines of his face. But his lips never moved.
I momentarily felt a sense of self congratulation, but quickly wondered exactly who had told Jack about me. I studied him for half a breath, taking in the sly way he looked at me from the corner of his eyes. The way his dark shaggy hair rebelliously fell across his face, and the lines suggested age and hard living. He was more Dirty Harry than he was highly decorated cop.

Who told you about me?” I asked as Jack motioned to Officer Kessler to come closer.

Think I agreed to work with you with out doing a little digging first? Beyond your personnel file.” Jack turned his attention to the tall, lean Kessler. “Get the CSI guys to see what they can get from the insides of the pockets on vic number 2 there.” Jack indicated the victim who lay on his back partially atop the first one.

Why the pockets?” I asked. The officers had pulled current driver’s licenses from both bodies, both wallets had been in the pockets of the victims when the police arrived.
Well the pockets have been riffled through, see here—“ He crouched down between the heads of the two victims, and pointed at the pockets on the thin, dark haired man who had been shot in the chest. “But far as we can tell robbery wasn’t a motive, wallets were untouched credit cards, cash all right where it should have been. So what was the gunman looking for if not for the wallet?”

I frowned. I thumped the heavy pen against the edge of my thigh as I considered what Jack had said. I had missed the pockets being disturbed; now that he had pointed it out I could see the mistake glaring me in the face.

I clenched my jaw and wrapped the pen against my thigh with an agitated pace.





When we left the crime scene, Jack set a rapid pace back to the unmarked cruiser. He managed to some how both light and smoke while walking fast enough I almost had to jog to keep up. I didn’t know how he could maintain a pace like that, show no signs of being winded, but maintain what was obviously a two pack or more a day habit. I had known plenty of smokers in my life, and none of them had that kind of stamina.

I settled into my side of the car, kicking the fast food graveyard out from under my feet. I used to grind my teeth at night when I was a kid, it got bad enough I had to wear a mouth guard through most of high school. It was a habit I had managed to out grow, but in times of stress or irritation I would unconsciously revert. I knew I had been doing it since leaving the bodega because I was aware that my jaw was beginning to ache.

I reached a hand up to rub at the point where my jawbone cut up sharply to join the rest of my face. I could feel the hard bone under my fingers and I flexed my jaw and tried to work out some of the stiffness. I thought about where I had last scene my mouth-guard, because I would regret it tomorrow if I didn’t wear it tonight.

You want some gum or something?” Jack said suddenly, causing my thoughts to derail.

Huh?” I looked at him, fingers still on my face. “What? Oh! No, I’m good…” I wasn’t entirely certain I would trust any food type item stored in this car. Some of the wrappers at my feet looked a couple of weeks old; there was no telling how long a pack of gum had been lying around. Perhaps since the car was new.

If you’re sure. I figured it might help.” Jack dropped some of the ash from his cigarette into a tray protruding from under the center of the dash.

I turned away from him to crack my windows, ensuring fresh air mingled with the smell of tobacco and whatever cologne could be caught faintly behind it. “Help with what?”
You’re grinding your teeth. Had a buddy of mine in school that used to do that, said chewing gum helped him. Figured I’d offer.” Jack barely glanced into the side mirror before gunning the big metal beast of a car into traffic.

I took a breath and grabbed at the bitch handle over my seat, holding tightly. I wasn’t the praying sort, I wasn’t sure where I stood on the God debate and after my mother’s recent death, I wasn’t sure I wanted to pick a side. But I found myself in that moment about ready to send up a prayer, if only to ensure we didn’t die between the crime scene and the precinct.

How did you know I was grinding my teeth?” I asked taking a sharp breath as Jack sped around a slower taxi cab by almost veering into oncoming traffic.

I’ve got really good hearing?” Jack offered, the only reason I could tell it was a joke was because of the expression on his face. It was something near enough a smile I thought it was evidence he could actually grin if he wanted to. “Nah, I saw your jaw muscles flexing. I’ve been a cop a long time, I’ve learned a few things about reading people.”

Oh, suppose that makes sense…” I felt a resurgence of the self-doubt and frustration I had when realizing I had miss something at the crime scene.

I closed my eyes as I saw a light turn yellow ahead of us. To my surprise Jack stopped rather than push his Detroit tank through it.

You’ll get there, Roberts. It’s not easy being the new guy, and you’re fresh from training camp. But you’ll get there.” Jack’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel to no conceivable pattern or beat.

I looked over at him, my mouth agape. I wasn’t sure what to say, a thank you seemed like it might be brushed off. To say anything else might have seemed like I doubted myself, maybe questioning my abilities. I knew better then to miss something as obvious as the pockets having been searched, I should have thought of that first with a suspected robbery motive. I had also read up on Jack before today, and everything in his file indicated he wasn’t the type to hand out compliments easily, or to consider them worth addressing once spoken. So I closed my mouth and looked ahead at the traffic on the mid morning streets.

You hungry?” Jack said after a prolonged silence. He pulled one foot off the break as the other engaged the gas. Next thing I knew we were lurching forward.

It’s only 10am…” I said glancing at the watch on my wrist.

Yeah, haven’t eaten since breakfast. Feeling peckish. I’m gunna grab something on the way in...”

I looked down between my feet. I could count at least half a dozen different fast food chains on the labels of the trash gathered there. Not for the first time I wondered what Jack’s doctor thought of his lifestyle: between the smoking, the eating and the driving it stood to reason he was either the luckiest man alive, or a miracle of science.

I was about to ask if his digestive tract had been grown in a lab when my cell phone buzzed sharply at my hip. I blinked not recognizing the plain ring tone I had set that morning. I had changed my usual ring tone, a classic rock song from the Clash, earlier in an effort to appear more professional and less like a beat cop. I glanced at the caller ID but did not recognize the number.

Detective Roberts.” I answered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the side of Jack’s mouth twitch. “Yes, Ma’am…No, she said she was taking the bus…I’ll look into it. Thank you for calling.”

I pressed the end button on the phone and pocketed it. I took a deep breath, slowly, and counted to five before I exhaled.

What was that all about?” Jack asked, whipping the big old car around stalled traffic in the outside lane.

That was Emily’s school secretary.” I had to consciously tell myself to stop clenching my teeth as I spoke. “Seems my sister decided not to show pup for school today. Again.”

I didn’t know what I was going to do with Emily. This was the third time in the past two weeks I had received that exact phone call. It was usually the same story; I found Emily some where other than school, and doing something she shouldn’t be doing. She had been acting out, having trouble in school and spending, by my estimate, too much time with an older boy. It wasn’t that I didn’t know why, our mother’s death hit her hard. But what I couldn’t understand was why she was willing to throw away school and a future to act like a complete stranger. She had even dyed her hair a color I know our mother would have never let her out of the house with.

Where do you think she is?” Jack asked slowing the car, finally. I noticed we were turning into the drive-thru of a particular fast food joint.

Honestly? With a boy. Scratch that. With an eighteen year old delinquent with the maturity of a 10 year old boy.” I couldn’t do anything to disguise the distaste in my voice, not that my opinion wasn’t already fairly obvious. I had met Skylar on two separate occasions, and neither one impressed me. He was both too old and too dumb to be dating Emily. And what kind of name was Skylar for a boy anyway?

Think that well of him, huh?” Jack’s mouth didn’t twitch, but there was something in his eyes as I looked at him; something mischievous and humorous. He glanced over at me, and could tell I wasn’t amused by his particular brand of humor. “Come on, you never had a boyfriend when you were a teenager your parents didn’t approve of?”

No. Did you?” I fired back.

Alright, that’s fair. But seriously, you must have at some point done something as a teenager that pissed your parents off, every one does.” Jack stopped the car in front of the first menu on the drive-thru, and pursed his lips as he studied it. I was surprised he even needed to bother, judging by the contents of his car, he should have had all the menus for every fast food joint in town committed to memory.

No, I didn’t. I was too focused on my school work, and going to college.” I straightened my shoulders a little.

Oh you were THAT girl.” Jack glanced at me briefly, raising his brows at me and then looking forward as he pulled forward into the cue.

What is that supposed to mean? What girl?”

The good girl. The girl who never did anything wrong, got good grades. You know, you used study hall for actual studying.”

It’s called study hall.” I snapped, and rolled my eyes. I shook my head as I Looked out the side window, staring at the world outside.

Portland has two seasons; rainy and humid. Because of all the rain however the trade off is that the whole city is coated in layers upon layers of lush greenery. I know they call Seattle the Emerald City, but I always thought that name would better suit Portland. Everywhere you turned there was green, even the walls on the freeway were covered with over grown strands of ivy. The whole city was lush, and just a few miles outside of town were some of the largest mountain range forests in the country.

I didn’t mean anything by it.” Jack eased off the break and some how managed to get the hulking beast of a car moving forward with out actually putting it into gear. I only knew how to drive a stick from a book, which meant in actual practice I probably couldn’t.

Look, I just need to get back to the station, and I’ll take some personal time to go deal with this…” I felt a little defeated. My first official day as a detective, and I have to spend more then my lunch hour figuring out where my teenage sister had gotten off to. The only thing I knew for sure was that she wasn’t at school. I puffed a few lose strands of my hair from my face. My hair was pin straight and brown, in other words: entirely ordinary. But as long as I could remember, I had never been able to keep my hair in any particular style, everything was flat on it, and even a ponytail failed eventually. Try as I might, no matter the hair style I couldn’t get it to stay more then a few hours.
Welcome to Happy Burger, what’s your order?” A mechanical, nasal sounding voice asked over the loud speaker affixed beneath another sign featuring colorful photos of the menu items available.

Uhh, never mind. Thanks though.” Jack said, and backed the car a few spaces before pulling it out of the line.

Where are you going? I thought you were hungry?” I reflexively reached for the ‘bitch handle’ on the roof of the car, near the window. Less then a day driving with my new partner, and I already had developed new survival skills.

Where do you live?”

No, I’ll just drive myself…it’s fine.” I protested, with a sinking sensation in my gut. The last thing I wanted was for Jack to have any part in this, his job was to train me, mentor me and make sure I didn’t kill any one on my first day. Not to drive me to a different side off town so I could search Emily’s bedroom for clues to where she might be.

Look, the best thing we can do is start at your house; search her bedroom for any clues to where this boyfriend of hers lives, or what she might be doing instead of going to school. Two sets of eyes are better than one.” Jack looked over at me. He was leaning back in his seat, which I realized made him seem relaxed. But I would never mistake him for the kind of guy who was off his guard.

You don’t have to help me.” I said it softly, not sure if I was apologizing or letting him off the hook. Probably both if I gave it more time to settle.

You’re my partner. So which way?” He pointed forward; we were paused at the parking lots’ main entrance. Ahead of us was the main road we had come in on.

Right. My apartment is in Beaverton.” I tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, and chewed on my lower lip. I let out a breath as Jack managed to swing his car into traffic with half an inch to spare from the opposing lane. I tried to remember if I had cleaned up my laundry from the night before, or if I had left my bras hanging over the dryer. As Jack passed a slower vehicle in front of us, and narrowly missed a collision with an oncoming pickup, I made a mental note that it wouldn’t matter where my underwear was hanging if we never made it to the apartment.



We reached my apartment, located in one of the many suburbs swallowed by Portland proper, in record time. Considering Jack hadn't once used the sirens, and we had managed to some how avoid being involved in, or causing a wreck, I felt that was fair evidence of a higher power. I hadn't lived in this building very long. I had moved my sister and I in a few weeks before, shortly after everything was finalized on the sale of my mother's home. When she had passed I was forced to sell the house in order cover some of her debts, the cost of the funeral. I looked in the same school district, but couldn't find anything big enough in my price range and was forced to move Emily across town to the cramped two bedroom we now shared.

It was an open air building, with the stairwells exposed to the diagnal wind so prominent in Oregon. I dodged a puddle of what was most likely rain water and fished my keys from the pocket of my coat. Jack was thumping up the stairs behind me, he didn't dodge the puddle.

You wear impractical shoes.” He said filling in the awkward silence as we climbed four flights of stairs to the fifth story.

They're comfortable.” I retorted rounding a small landing to start up the final set of stairs.

You're lying.” There was no accusation in his voice, just a simple statement of fact.

I found myself grinding my teeth. I paused half a flight ahead of him and pivoted on a stair. This left me taller than Jack and I stared down at him, certain my face reflected my annoyance.

My shoes are fine.” I purposefully stomped my feet as I finished climbing the stairs, turning my back to him.

You have a faint hitch in your step, your right foot is being pinched. That's not unusual people's feet are usually a bit different in sizes. You should wear comfortable shoes. Something you can run it, that'll protect your feet.” Jack continued to lecture as we finished the last flight and headed down the walkway between doors to the apartment I had rented just a few weeks ago. I felt more conscious of my gait then I had ever felt before, the extra concentration seemed to make the pinching in my toes worse instead of better.

As I reached my door I glanced over my shoulder at Jack, who was patiently following behind me. I glowered at him, wishing I could blame the increase in my discomfort on him. I knew better, but it didn't stop the thought. He looked back at me with that smug little smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes and brought my attention to the door that fed into the apartment.

The apartment was a two bedroom, two bathroom set up with a small kitchen and equally cramped living room. But it gave Emily the privacy she needed, and was affordable with out leaving my budget so tight I couldn't afford groceries. It forced Emily to move from the school she had been attending, and the adjustment was clearly becoming problematic for her. But it was the best I could do, a detective's salary wasn't much when they were fresh on the force, and my mother had had a lot of debt to pay off. This cramped space as the best I could do and not wind up in a neighborhood where car alarms and sirens were common place.

Jack leaned against the wall as I stared at the door. I knew she was in there, I could hear the music. It was some heavy rock band that only teenagers thought sounded good, blaring loudly enough I'm sure all the neighbors would be furious if they were home. But it was the middle of the day, most people were at work, thankfully. I could almost feel the bass echoing my pulse as I mentally geared myself up for the fight that was coming. The all out screaming matches were becoming all too common as of late.

Jack sniffed and looked at me. “Smells like pot.”

I couldn't smell anything but the damp air of Portland that permeated every corner of the city. Some people had sensitive noses.

Great. Just great.” I grumbled under my breath as I shoved the key into the deadbolt lock. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes before shoving the front door open. I opened my eyes once I had stepped inside the apartment.

The site that greeted me was a young man sitting on my couch with his shirt off and pants half undone. There was the faint smell of smoke in the air and that sickly, sweet scent that came with marijuana. The man on my couch jerked and twisted so he could see who was charging in the front door, he peered over the back of the couch at me with a look that didn't show much recognition.

Where is she?” I demanded, shouting to be heard over the loud music.

Uhh...Uh,..bathroom, dude...” He stammered out, trying to get to his feet. His over sized jeans slipped off his hips as he did so and he stumbled a little trying to grab them before they hit the floor.

I dismissed him with a disgusted wave and headed for the main bathroom. I had designated that bathroom for Emily, I had one attached to my own master bedroom. She had quickly taken it over with a variety of products and perfumes most of which when used made me want to light a match to kill the over whelming flowery scent of them. The door was closed and slammed my fist against the wood. It was flimsy and rattled as I banged on the painted ply-board.

Emily!” I shouted over the music. “Get your ass out here!”

Jack had moved across the room and by the time I was issuing the second round of pounding to get my sister's attention, he had killed the stereo. I glanced over at him he was standing close enough to the young man it was apparent Jack was attempting to loom. The young man was tall, but slender enough I thought even I could break his bones pretty easily. Jack, while not as tall, looked to have a good 80 pounds of rough muscle on the boy, and was staring at him in a way that suggested he was looking for an excuse to hurt him.

Hey! Who the hell--” The bathroom door swung open and Emily was on the other side, she was angry as she came out into the main room. She paused when she noticed me, and glanced side ways at Jack. “What the hell do you want?”

What the hell do you mean 'what do I want'? Why aren't you at school?” I demanded, straightening myself out. I was taller than Emily. I had a good four or five inches of height on her. But she had all the feminine attributes in the family, where my hair was stick straight and a plain dull brown, Emily had full, wavey blonde hair the color actresses pay a lot of money to recreate. She had come home two days ago with blue and pink streaks in it, and they were still there, only she had cut some bangs for herself in an uneven choppy way that was clearly the end result of an unsteady hand. She had round hips that filled out her jeans nicely, and breasts that were bordering on too large for a teenager, especially one who was just past 15 years old. She cut all of her tee shirts to better show them off. And her blue eyes stared at me with daggers in them.

I don't like that school.” She snapped and moved towards the boy in the living room. I stepped in front of her, arms folded across my chest. “Get out of my way, Amy.”

Hey, uhh maybe I should go...” The young man said, shifting his weight nervously as all eyes were on him.

No, Skylar...” Emily said looking around me at him with a pleading expression.

Skylar? What the hell kind of a name is Skylar?” Jack spoke up for the first time since entering the apartment. His light colored eyes were staring at Skylar, studying him with the same expression he had given the dead men in the bodega earlier. “Pull your pants up.”

Go to your room, Emily. Get your shit together and I'm taking you to school.” I pointed at the closed door, complete with various signs indicating I was supposed to stay the hell out, of her bedroom.

She looked for a moment like she was going to protest, but another look at Jack and she decided she was outvoted. She stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door to it behind her hard enough a picture frame fell off the wall and cracked as it slammed into the floor. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I tried to remember to remain calm.

I turned around to deal with Skylar and get him out of my house, but found him with Jack. Jack was standing very close to Skylar, leaning in close to speak quietly to the boy.

How old are you, boy?” Jack asked, his voice calm, sereen in a way that suggested he was merely waiting, passing the time.

Eighteen, pops. What's it to ya?” Skylar copped that same attitude I seen a thousand times as a beat cop, the one that was all about the bullshit and nothing behind it.

That's bad news for you, Skylar. Bad news. See she's only 15...” Jack's voice kept that same tone, steady, even. It was bordering on documentary informative. Jack hadn't just read my file, he'd memorized it. “That isn't good for you. That's jailbait, boy.”

What the fuck do you care, gramps?” Skylar had moved half a step away from Jack, but that was all the further he got.

Jack's arm moved and his hand latched onto the back of Skylar's neck, so fast I wasn't sure it had happened until I saw Skylar scrunch up. His shoulders shot upwars and his head forward as he tried to escape the grip, but wasn't able to. His shaggy greasey dyed-black hair fell in front of his face as he tried to duck away from Jack. Jack held strong and Skylar was trapped.

Jack's expression had changed from calm and sareen, to predatory. “I'm a cop, son.”

I ain't afraid of you!” Skylar threw up some more of that false bravado, but his voice was quivering.

Do you know what they call eunuchs in prison, Skylar?” Jack's voice rumbled with a dangerous edge. “Bitch. So if I hear you've so much as been seen walking down the same street as Emily – And I will hear about it – you and I are going to have another conversation. You don't want that, do you, Skylar?”

Skylar looked for half a second like he was going to attempt to keep up the act, but it caved and he hurriedly shook his head. “N-No...”

No what?” Jack asked, given Skylar a little shake, his hand squeezing on the back of his neck.

No, sir.” Skylar said, licking his lips nervously.

Good. No get.” Jack released Skylar with a shove towards the still open front door.

Skylar stumbled a few steps before righting himself. He paused and looked at the small baggy of pot still sitting on my coffee table. He reached for it, sliding his gaze over at Jack. Jack shook his head, and Skylar's hand recoiled. He rushed out of the apartment and from the sounds of his foot steps on the walk and the heavy cinder-block stairs he was in a hurry.

I stared at Jack. He stood in my living room looking strangely comfortable as he looked around at the things I had sitting out. When he caught my eye briefly he just shrugged his shoulders and turned to face another direction, giving me some privacy.

I turned to face Emily as he emerged from her room, backpack slung over one shoulder and clothing barely acceptable per the school's dress code. Sometimes I wondered if she did it to piss me off, or she was out to piss off the entire world. I rubbed at my right temple briefly before speaking.

We need to have a talk about this--” I stared but was cut off.

No we don't. We have nothing to discuss.” She snapped, adjusting the way her backpack sat on her one shoulder. She tugged some of her blonde hair from under the strap and rolled her eyes.

Yes we do. You're supposed to be at school. I get a call on my first day back at work that you didn't show up. So I have to come down here, taking personal time on my FIRST day, Emily!” I wanted her to understand, I wanted her to see how embaressing and unprofessional this all was, but she just stared at the wall like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. “I come home and find you with a boy in my apartment! And with pot! I'm a COP, Emily! You can't have drugs in this apartment do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in?!”

I suddenly realized Jack had an easy out if he decided he didn't want to work with me. One call to the right people about what he'd seen in here and he could easily have me transferred or worse, demoted. I glanced over my shoulder at him, but he was staring at the television, examining it far too closely. He didn't strike me as the type who cared much about such things, but for my benefit he pretended to be engrossed. This was the last conversation I wanted to have in front of my new partner.

Are you having sex with that kid?!” I demanded as I looked back at her. Suddenly replying a thousand television shows I'd seen covering the exact same argument. I felt like a cliché as I stood in front of her.

What the hell do you care?” She retorted.

My hands curled into fists, and I felt them trembling. I knew my face was flushing with red anger as I tried to remember to breathe. All I wanted to do was punch something, hard. I wanted to scream, shout and yell at her about how selfish she was, how annoying, that she was behaving like a child, and was going to cost me everything if she kept it.

You're fifteen!” I shouted, much louder than I intended.

Aren't you supposed to be escorting me to school?” She cocked one hip out and put both hands on her hips. She looked me right in the eye, defiance all over her face.

I felt my anger like a white hot knife in my stomach and opened my mouth to let the flood gates down and speak my mind for once, but was cut off.

Jack spoke up to keep me from unloading. “Yep. Let's go, clocks ticking.”

He pointed towards the exit. Emily cast me one more glare before marching for the door. I exhaled a deep breath I had been holding to keep from exploding. I looked over at Jack, and he met my eyes. I wasn't sure what the expression was on his face, but there was an understanding in his eyes that in that moment I was so grateful for I couldn't speak.

Come'n, Roberts. Sooner we get Punky Brewster here to school, the sooner we get back to catching bad guys.” Jack motioned for me to get moving. For a moment I couldn't get my feet to move, my anger was still like a hot blade in my gut, but I eventually got my feet moving.

My name is Emily.” My sister snapped, snide and unconcerned with polite conversation as ever.

Uh huh.” Jack said closing the door behind him as he helped guide me into the hall with his hand at the small of my back.

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Hope you enjoyed And why yes, I don't just right M/M Romance. Though let's face it, that's a lot more fun!


Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Posting from Somewhere Else & Cpt Jack Harkness's Saga

A while back I filled out an interview questionnaire for writer Lou Sylvre. Lou was nice enough to put this interview up on his blog. So today I am posting here with a link to this interview, encouraging you all to check it out. And to check out Lou, he's a nice guy with some great talent.

Dean Ocean: On Telling his Own Story

And here is Lou's website: Lou Sylvre, Author | Romance Across the Rainbow


In less interesting news...well less happy anyway: my cat Cpt. Jack Harkness nearly died. It started Sunday night Pepper, around 8pm, noticed Jack was acting strangely. He went to stand up and started screeching to high heaven, and growling in pain. We couldn't see any obvious signs of injury, which lead us both to the terrifying conclusion that he had a Urinary block.

Male cats of a certain age (usually between 2years and 5 years) are prone to getting crystals in their urine, that will then in turn block the urinary tract. This block causes urine to swell in the bladder and will result in death, usually by causing the bladder to rupture, the kidney and liver to become flooded with back flow urine and generally it's an agonizingly slow and painful way to go. There are surgeries you can perform to unblock a cat who has blocked. The problem with these surgeries is they are extremely expensive. And once the cat has blocked, it's an extremely high likelihood he will do it again. This is overwhelmingly a male cat problem and is almost never seen in female cats.

Cpt. Jack Harkness is two years old. And he was presenting with very classic symptoms of being blocked. I knew there was no way I could afford spending the almost $2,000 on surgery and if he turned out to be blocked, it was a death sentence. I would opt to euthanize him. I'm a writer, I don't make a whole lot of money and I have a lot of mouths to feed. So Pepper and I loaded Jack into the car and drove across town to the ER Clinic. Basically we both felt like we were taking Jack to die.

We arrived at around 9pm. Fortunately for us Pepper works there, so we were able to walk straight into the back of the clinic and announce Jack's symptoms. Immediately one of my favorite vets there Dr. Pearson grabbed Jack from us and rushed him to the ultrasound. I basically stood there like a worried dad, wringing my hands hoping for the best.

The good news was he wasn't blocked. The ultrasound was clear, but his bladder had some suspicious sludge in it. This is some what typical of male cats, but certainly something that has to be watched. Breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn't in immediate danger, we then had to wait.

The advantage of having a roommate who works at the ER clinic is we get discounted and preferential treatment. The down side is that sometimes that comes with having to go to the back of the line in terms of waiting to see someone. This is a small trade off for discounted care (please note the cost of the block surgery would have been still closer to two grand even with Pepper's discounts.) In line ahead of us came a dog with blood pressure so low I thought it had to be a zombie, and who's heart was being slowly crushed by a tumor leaking fluid around the chest cavity. Emergency care was given to this dog. And a pug that came in with a puncture wound on his ear, who's parents panicked because there was a lot of blood (please note: ears bleed like no other, even minor injuries look worse then they are.) We waited for about an hour before the actual ER vet Dr. Leftkowitz was able to take a look at Jack. Pearson had technically only been there to do paperwork, but had taken care of us immediately. She is familiar with us and knows how much Jack means to me.

Another ultrasound revealed his bladder was still fine. But that Jack was NOT okay being put on his back. So the vet recommended we give him a mild sedative and see what we could find once he was calmer. Sure enough once the drugs were on board and he wasn't freaking out any more, we were able to discover his back was what was hurting him.

Pepper and I both breathed a sigh of relief. This was not the dire emergency we thought we were facing. We were told to give him pain drugs 3 times a day (Jack we later discovered really LIKES being high) and keep his activity restricted. We arrived home at midnight.

Jack was set up in Sully's crate (which is big enough to fit two large dogs comfortably, or one Sully) with his favorite blankets (fleece) food, water and a small litter box.  He was high and seemed perfectly content with this set up.

Cut to this morning. It's six am and my phone starts ringing. I answer it in a fog after working until 2am, 6am had me a little groggy and disoriented. It's Pepper. She's calling because sometimes if you open my bedroom door while I'm sleeping my Aussie, Bodie, objects. Vocally. Aggressively.

"Hey, dude, Jack's...blocked..." She says, with out bothering to sugar coat it or soften the blow. It is simply how she is, and knows that realistically shooting straight about what's going on is the best way to deal with the situation head on.

It was not the wake up call I wanted. I drag myself up out of bed and we talk about his symptoms. She had gone to feed him and give him his AM dose of pain meds, and watched him try to use the litterbox and scream in pain. This is a classic symptom, the #1 in fact, of a urinary tract block. I brace myself for the realization that we don't have an option but to put him down.

Pepper calls the regular vet she works for on Tuesdays to tell him she will be late coming in, that we have to take Jack into the ER and have him put down. And then a miracle happens. The regular DVM asks what's wrong with him. When she explains he's got a block and that realistically treatment is out of my price range, Dr. Gilmore volunteers to do the procedure. He tells Pepper to bring Jack down to his clinic and that hell do it; free of charge.

Jack is now out of surgery and recovering wonderfully. He is feeling much better, and is enjoying the good drugs he's on (I'm not joking this cat is a junkie waiting to happen.) He is being put on a special prescription food and will be watched closely for the rest of his life for any sign he's going to block again (odds are high he will at some point, I just hope it's years from now.) So thanks to my amazing roommate, Pepper, and the incredible people she works for and with...Jack is going to be okay. And I'm in the process of sending flowers and chocolates to the vet, as well as ordering a gift certificate to his favorite restaurant to say thank you.