Archive for April, 2013

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 28, 2013
oooh, nice!

oooh, nice!

the help

the help

Influence Peddling

(Episode 44)

Benny Green got a call from his friend Lazlo in Vegas.  Lazlo was also a loan shark and money launderer.  But at times they traded leads.

“I got this guy here, thought you might find interesting.”

“Oh yeah?  How so,” Benny asked.

“Well, he’s deeply in debt,” Lazlo continued.

“That’s a start,” Benny agreed.

“He’s lost somebody else’s money.  And if that somebody else doesn’t get their money back, he’s gonna be in deep shit.”

“So he’s already in deep shit,” Benny replied.

“Yeah.”

“And this wouldn’t be your money, would it?”  Benny asked.

“Well, it could be,” was Lazlo’s reply.

“Aaahhhh.”  Benny nodded.  This sounded like a two way split.  Which Benny liked better than a favor.  A two way split was precise and people kept their eye on the play.  A ‘favor’ was a sloppy business and involved a lot of conversation and socializing and most of the time came back to bite you.  “And what’s his pitch?”  Benny asked.  “What’s his collateral?”  Benny laughed.

“Well, it’s something you might be able to use, but I can’t, really.”  Lazlo let the last words filter out his lips with the smoke from his cigar.  “But if you could, then we could.  But if you can’t, then we can’t.”

“Hmmmmmmm.”  Benny nodded.  It so happens that they were both, at this time, puffing on big cigars – the same brand actually – and letting the smoke filter out from between their lips.

Lazlo belched and waved someone over.  Benny, on his end, did the same thing.  Benny snapped his fingers, and asked his mistress to hand him a ham on rye.  Down in Vegas, Lazlo snapped is fingers at a former showgirl and demanded a Chivas on the rocks.

“So why would I be able to use this ‘thing’ we’re talking about, when you can’t – or won’t?”  Benny asked.  There was a lot of chit chat and shoptalk embedded in a deal.  And Lazlo employed and enjoyed it as much as Benny.  And when they were enjoying themselves, they often felt the urge to eat.

“It’s a matter of lowkwhoshawn…”  Lazlo murmured through a bite of sandwich.

“THwhaut?”  Benny chewed, spit out a wheat kernel, and checked his filling.  ‘What the hell does this woman buy for bread?’ Benny had to ask himself.

Lazlo swallowed, then took a gulp of beer.  “It’s a matter of loc-a-tion,” he enunciated.

“Uh,” Benny replied, reaching in his pocket for a toothpick.

“What he wants to sell me is a town.  …maybe a county.”

“A town?  What have I got to do with a town?”  Benny replied.  “What am I gonna do with a county?”

But Lazlo was silent, letting the matter crawl around the crevices of Benny’s lizard brain for a moment, while Lazlo studied a sandwich.  He lifted it.  Finally, Lazlo decided where he was going to bite and answered.  “It’s the town’s money he lost.  He’s the mayor, the treasurer, the coroner, the post office supervisor, and a dozen other things as near as I can tell, of the great metropolis of Kimmel, up in your neck of the woods.”  Lazlo bit.

“And so he wants to trade you the town, in lieu of his gambling debt?”

“He wants to trade me his influence,” Lazlo corrected, chewing.  “He figures hi mhight whant tho estahblish,” Lazlo took a gulp of Chivas, feeling the ice tap his teeth,  “gambling, and maybe a little loan-sharking and prostitution up in his neck of the woods.  And he thinks me and him can make that happen.  Of course, if I decide not to ‘help’ him out, then more than likely he goes on the lam, or gets incarcerated, and there goes his influence.  So.  It’s a perishable commodity,” Lazlo summarized.

“Aren’t we all,”  Benny sympathized with a smile.  “How long does he have?”

“Well, there’s the payroll he’s got to meet, which includes the county Sheriff’s salary.”

This made Benny’s brows rise.  “I don’t know,” Benny said finally.  “Currently I’m invested into businesses – legit businesses, some of them even hi tech, you’d be proud of me, I am embracing technology – and making clean money.  Towns cost money.  They got potholes to fix, cops to fix, and all that shit..  I don’t know.  I don’t see any money, unless I go majorly illegal.  You know, corrupt with a big ‘C’.  And then, I still have to put even more money in, you know, to build up the proper infrastructure, to support something that would make it worth my while, considering the risk.”

“Benny!  I can’t believe I’m hearing this.  Corruption always pays better than legit.  That’s why we do it,” Lazlo swore.

“Aaiiii!”  Benny swore.  “But I’m getting so tired of talking to that FBI.  And the legal fees eat me alive.”

“Okay.  Okay.  Only two words I’m going to say,” Lazlo replied.  “Las Vegas.”

“That’s one.”

“No, it’s two.  Look it up.”

“I have.”

“No.  Apparently you haven’t, because there’s ‘Las’, and then there’s ‘Vegas’.  Two words.”

“Las’, is not a word.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.  What does ‘Las’ mean?  It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It must in Spanish.  Or they wouldn’t use it all by itself, would they?”  Lazlo countered.

“Who knows what the goddamned Mexicans do,” Benny replied.  “Even if it does mean something, it probably means ‘the’, or ‘before’, or ‘on top of’.”

“’On top of?”

“…or something.  And what does ‘the’ mean?  Huh?  ‘The’ doesn’t mean anything.  It’s like a nothing, a, an, empty thought space.”

Lazlo sighed.  “Okay, look.  We’re getting off topic here.  Why don’t we save  this linguistic pissing contest for another time?”

“Fine with me.”

“Because what I am saying in a language we both know and can communicate in is that what we may be looking at here is an opportunity.  And it might be worth the investment because we reduce the risk, like Las Vegas.  They own the desert, and they make the law.  No cops.  No lawyers.  No courts.  No nothing.  Just out of state marks.  Lots of grain fed marks flown in…”

“I heard you say “we”.”

“That’s right.  We split 50/50.”

“So what do I do?  And what do you do?”

“Okay.  So this is it.”  Lazlo lowered his voice – just from habit, and not because he was afraid of being overheard.  It was just habitual to lower your voice when you got to the meat of any conversation.  Everybody knew this.

“The guy’s short $240,000.  It was $160,000, but he tried to gamble his way free.  This ought to give you some measure of the guy’s ability to self-examine and to self-correct in the face of adversity and of his character flaws.”

“Yeah.  I got it,” Benny said.  “Mayor or not, he’s just another normal putz with abnormal ambition and what he thought were testicles.”

“Yeah.  So this is how it is:  I give him $120,000.  This is enough to save his ass for the time being, but not enough for him to lose that sense of urgency, which is so important for a good relationship to flower.  You pay me $60,000, and you’re in for half.  After that we own him.  And you run him and the operation up there, while I raise the money and assemble the backers down here.  And we go big league.  We put Kimmel County on the map.  What do you say?”

Benny thought for a while.  “I knew a broad who lived out near there,” he said.  “One of my clients.  Seemed to like it.”

“Well there you go,” Lazlo agreed.

“Until she got whacked.  Some crazy batshit serial killer or some such.  Cut her head off.  Like, sawed it, with a small knife.  Can you believe that?”

“There’s a lot of sickos in this world,” Lazlo sympathized.

“Maybe.  On the other hand, she was pretty abrasive,” Benny offered.

“Well, okay.  Then there’s that.  You know, like sometimes a person’s karma can catch up to them.”

“Yeah, and saw their head off!”  Benny laughed.  He considered.  “Okay, cut me in.  And I’ll get the money to you by the end of this week.  It’ll be cash, and I’ll have my nephew drive it down personal.  Cause you know him and he knows you.”

“That’ll work, “ Lazlo said.

“Okay.  Nice bein’ in business with you again Lazlo,” Benny said.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

They both hung up, grabbed their drinks and cigars, and sat there thinking.

Photos from Google Images

Advertisements

Young Writers

April 26, 2013

Editor:  Yeah, we’re still chasing that youth demographic.  Plus, it’s a change from corpse eating hogs.

Crossover Dribble

Crossover Dribble

Life Is a lot Like Basketball, the More You Learn the More Difficult It Seems.

by Thawit Nelson

I moved to US in the beginning of June. I didn’t know any English. The only word I knew was “Hello” or “Hi”. After about a week I started school. It was pretty difficult, because I didn’t know any English. I went to school about a month, and the last day of school was the twentieth of June. Where I live, which is up above the hill from Stillwater Store, I have two friends that played basketball who were my neighbors. They played for fun, and they wanted me to try. I tried to shoot, but the ball was hard to shoot.

At first, I dribbled the ball back and forward.  But where I come from there is no such thing as basketball.  It looked like a fun sport.  Still, I didn’t know about basketball.  The only thing I knew was that it was dribbling and shooting.

Summer 2011 I went camping with my parent.  And everywhere I saw basketball courts.  I started to play basketball on January 23, 2012.  There were lots of people making fun of me when I started playing basketball.  But I kept practicing and practicing until I felt like ‘I’m a lot better than the others that think they are good.’

I started to play a year ago, when I was thirteen, because I was adopted by then.  The first day I moved here, I touched the ball.  I didn’t know how to dribble or shoot the ball.  A couple months later we went camping and every time I saw a basketball court, I asked my parents to let me play there.  But I didn’t get a chance.

 

In the beginning of 2012 there was basketball activity at school and I started to play.  I didn’t know how to shoot, layup, dribble.  It seemed very hard.  I was always the only one who got bullied.  I was pretty upset.  I never said anything to fight back because I was still learning the language.  About 20 days later, I asked my parents for a basketball driveway hoop.  And I kept practicing and practicing.  Then I attended the NBC (National Basketball Camp), which was a good camp for me.

Knowing more basketball made it harder and harder.  There are so many moves, fakes, layups, crossovers, and all kinds of footwork.  Now, I’m 15 and trying to get up to speed so that I can play for the High School.  But there are lots of players who started playing basketball when they were little.  And some of them are big.

I hadn’t realized how hard being good would be.  But each day I wake up and continuing trying.  Just like Michael Jordan says, I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I can’t accept not trying. 

TinTin6WEb

Photo by Carl Nelson

 

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 24, 2013

ID Card4

Screening More Pig Shit for Clues

(Episode 43)

 

            Merlin and Leland unhinged the screen door, while Bill Porter pulled out the lengthy cow stall sprayer hose.  Bill said that he wouldn’t mind in the least helping with a murder investigation; moreover, that he’d never ever participated in one and thought he might enjoy it.  So they had Bill drive the pigs out of the pens.  Then, as Bill shoveled the pens and heaved the muck onto the screens, Merlin sprayed the mud away into a slurry, while Leland scoured the bits of twigs and rocks and other debris left on the screens for evidence.

            “It would be pretty nice if whoever died here were our killer,” Merlin spoke above the rush of the spraying water he was zig-zagging about the screens.

            “Nice.  But I wouldn’t get our hopes up,” Leland answered.  “It doesn’t figure.  If our killer talked her husband Bob into accompanying him on his latest murder/rape – I could see her killing our killer, and maybe even Bob, but when I spoke with them, right before both of them getting shot, they were cooing like two love birds.  And also, why would she ask me who I was working for?” 

            “Okay.  Let’s say it was someone else she killed and had Bob dump the bodies in here.  Why would she want to do that?  Who in the world would Harriet want to kill?  Other than the killer?

            “You mean, besides Bob?”

            “I thought you said they were cooing like love birds.”

            “Yeah, but just recently.”

            Merlin thought about this.  “Okay,” he surmised.  “Then who is a person you or Harriet – or anyone, really – are most likely to want to kill?”

            “Someone who’s trying to kill me!”  Leland laughed.  Because this is the way it almost always was in the law enforcement business.

            Merlin and Leland looked at each other, while thinking this over.

 

            “Someone was out to kill either her or Bob – or maybe just Bob – and Harriet drilled ‘em,” Merlin said.

            “Maybe so…”  Leland said, as he collected a few items of interest off of the washing screen.  “Hey!  Hold it up there a moment, will you Bill?  And Merlin?”  He held the items in his palm and mulled them over. 

            “Here, it looks like we have a pretty well gnawed on hunk of a black rubber heel.”  Leland held it up.  Two cobbler’s nails stuck out of it.

            “Man, those pigs were hungry.”  Merlin whistled.

            “It was a few days before I realized maybe somebody ought to come over here and look after the stock, since nobody was,” Bill apologized.

            “And here.  Oh, this is interesting,” Leland continued.  “It looks like a portion of a license, or a legal identification of some kind.  No writing.  But it’s got that plasticized holographic twinkle to it when I hold it up to the light.”

            Leland was getting excited.  “Okay.  It looks like we’re going to be out here for some time.   I want to sluice all of the mud in all of these three pens, and go through it carefully before sundown.  Are you two okay with this?”

            “Just let me make a few calls,” Merlin said, setting the hose and stepping away.

            Bill Porter nodded soberly.

            Merlin halted and turned.

            “Wait a minute,” Merlin said.  “Holographic ID.  And Harriet says, “Who are you working for, Leland?” 

            “Yeah,” Leland agreed.  “We may be looking here at the (fecal) remains of some kind of Government Official.”

            “Is there any other kind?”  Merlin chuckled.

            Leland frowned.

            “Or several?”  Bill Porter’s eyes grew wide, taking in the wide expanse of pens.

            “It can’t be ruled out.”

            “What kind of Government official goes missing and nobody knows a thing?”  Merlin asked.

            Leland considered this.  “The worst kind, maybe,”  Leland said.  All of a sudden, everything was moving very fast…   “You two might want to be very careful who you talk to, and how much you say about this for the next while,” he added.  “Just to be safe,” he said grimly.

            Merlin exhaled slowly, between the crack in his two front teeth.

            Bill Porter looked nervous, like a man who was suddenly in over his head, or having qualms anyway.

Photos from Google Images

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 21, 2013
A Pig Will Eat About Anything and Really Clean Their Plate.

A Pig Will Eat About Anything and Really Clean Their Plate.

Pigs6

“There’s Gold in That There Hog Pen!”

(Episode 42)

 Leland sat at the dinner table of the old farmhouse and wondered just what had occurred there.  He couldn’t imagine Bob Weeds cooking anything worth eating, so it was probably Harriet.  He looked into the dishwasher.  But it had already been stacked and run following the tourist’s lunch.  The whole crime scene was so polluted by now that anything uncovered now could be used to indict just about anybody, including a ham sandwich.

‘Didn’t matter.’  Leland was just here to get a feel of the place, to get a feel if he could for Harriet’s mental state.  He looked around.  He couldn’t say, in any way, that it looked like the house of a crazy person.  It was all fairly clean, and all fairly orderly.  Just about the housekeeping you’d expect a working dairy farmer’s wife to be able to manage.  There was a magazine about cows, and one about guns.  Another one over by the plant on a stand was full of household hints and recipes.  ‘Jeeze,’ Leland thought.  ‘How does it go from this, to getting shot?’

He walked outside, squinted up into the sun and noticed Merlin waving to him.  So he strode over there.

“I was talking to Mr. Porter here…”  Merlin nodded.

“Call me Bill.”

“…Bill.  And he showed me something.”

Bill Porter held up something bright between his thumb and forefinger.  “There’s gold in that there hog pen!”  He said, delighted.

Leland looked at it.  Bill Porter handed it over.

“Old Bob must have lost a cap at sometime.  I was just over here taking care of the animals ‘till some arrangements have been made for them, when I noticed this little nugget glowing up at me.  Can you beat that?  Must have been for doing a good deed,” Bill said, smiling.

“Must have been,” Leland agreed, smiling.

“Are you wondering what I’m wondering?” Merlin asked.

Leland nodded.  “Bill,” he said, “would you mind waiting around here for a while with us?  I’d like to make a phone call.”

“Sure, Sheriff.  No problem.”

Leland stepped a few paces to the side and called the office on his cell.

Meanwhile, Merlin chatted with Bill Porter about what and all, and about the pigs.

“Ruth,” Leland said.  “Could you give me Ramey, please?”

“Sure, Leland,” Ruth said.  “What’s up?”

“Don’t know.  Maybe something.”

“Okay.  Let’s hope it is.  Here’s Ramey.”

But it wasn’t Ramey who came on the phone.

“Sheriff Leland!  I’ve been in this cell for over 3 weeks now, or more.  I’m starting to lose track of the days.  And it seems I don’t know one more thing about why I was murdered than I did the night of the attack.  What in the world are you doing out there?”

“Nancy.  Would you please channel Ramey for me?  I need some information.”

“For your information, I don’t ‘channel’ anyone.  I’m just stuck here, inside of a dentist – for Godsakes – and I don’t know why.”

“I don’t know either, Nancy.  Now could you please give me Ramey.  Poke him, or prod him, or mumbo jumbo him up out of the ether, however you two have it worked out, but give me Ramey please, so that I can get back to the crime scene and do my job.   Please?”

Merlin, meanwhile, heard the argument and stepped over.  “Who’s ‘Nancy’?”  He asked.

Leland covered the phone and exhaled.   “You wouldn’t believe…   …I’ll have to introduce you!”  He smiled at Merlin.  Merlin’s brows rose.

“Yes?  Who is it?”  This was Ramey’s voice.

“Ramey?  Is that you?”  Leland asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you and… that woman in your head, have things worked out?  It seems every time I want to talk to you, I have to go through her.”

“Well.  Err, it’s difficult to explain Leland.  But I think it might have something to do either with, well, just her nature, or the way she was raised…  I can’t really tell.”

“Nevermind!  Listen.  You did Bob Weeds dental work.  Did he have any gold caps?”

“Ha!  That would be the day.  He was a ‘fly to Tijuana and have them all pulled kind of a guy.’  He joked that he would “spare no expense”.  He thought that was funny.  I think it was his wife, Harriet, who’d thought of the retort.”

“Okay.  How about Harriet?”

“Harriet?  Well, she had pretty good teeth.  Not many fillings as I recall.  But they were all amalgam.  She wasn’t the type to go spending money on pretties.”

“Thanks Ramey.”  Leland clicked off.

“That’s not Bob or Harriet’s gold cap,” Leland said.

“Then whose is it, Sheriff?”  Bill Porter, who had come walking over, asked.

“That’s a good question Bill,” Leland said.

Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

Photo by Google Images

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 19, 2013

Hill

The Kimmel County Tour of Very, Very Violent Crimes

(Episode 41)

 When Merle and Leland arrived at the Weed’s place, Bobby Spencer’s  Kimmel County Tour of Very, Very Violent Crimes  bus  – the sign for which covered one side of the old motor coach in bright red cursive letters – was just finishing up it’s highlight attraction “Lunch at the Shoot Out!”,  featuring ‘Chicken and Bisquits just as Harriet Weeds Fixed ‘em’.   The tourists were wiping the crumbs from their faces with their paper napkins and commenting upon Harriet Weed’s posthumous farmhand lunch spread, while their kids were running around poking the cows with sticks.

“You want to waltz in?  There’s bound to be something left – potato salad, a drumstick or a thigh.”  Merle tossed his head.

Leland indicated that they’d best park in the shade behind some trees until the tour had run its course.  So they watched Bobby speak a little to the crowd before the tourists in their hats and plastic bags of collectibles rose up from their seats and filed in a fairly neat line through the front door for a tour of the farmhouse.  Bobby was wearing the official tour cap and t shirt, as were all of the other school chums Bobby had hired to put out the meal, and then gather up the leftovers and clear the tables.  And it appeared to Leland that Bobby had hired old Jerry Gillis to drive the bus.  He had a greasy grey pony tail, a few days growth of grey stubble and wore a dirty black cap advertising Skoal.  Leland had a good idea it was that girl reporter, his daughter Nancy Gillis, who had talked Bobby into that.  Leland hoped Jerry was sober, and straight.  The Gillis girl must be trying to raise the whole family, Leland figured.

When the crowd was fully inside of the farmhouse, four figures walked out of the barn and began taking their positions around the yard.

In a while, the tourists exited the farmhouse, holding up their hands and squinting into the sun.  Bobby Spencer had switched to a loudspeaker and had quickly run around to the head up the crowd, in order to direct their movement.  The crowd saw the four figures carrying guns, and stopped, clustering where they were.

Then, Bobby began his spiel.  The other kids were Bob, Harriet, Agent Hailey and himself.  They were all dressed to resemble.  Leland figured Bobby must have recruited them from the drama club.  Someone had even written them out lines.   As Bobby stepped back, the little drama was played out.

When another girl, playing Nancy Gillis, broke from the crowd and ran forward snapping pictures, Leland began to get angry.  When the guns fired blanks, Leland’s breathing grew ragged and he broke into a sweat.

“You alright?”  Merlin asked.

“Yeah.  I’m fine,” Leland said quickly.  But he didn’t look so.

With two of them dead, Bobby Spencer turned dramatically and recreated events leading up to the confrontation.  He noted where each character stood, the weapon they had, the angle of the sun at the time of the shootout – even the number of bullets shot.   He punctuated this monologue  by showing them a couple dark crusty puddles which still stained the “thirsty soil”.

From what Leland remembered, all of that had been destroyed following the investigation.  But whatever.  Now there were splatters of something, marked off by yellow crime tape, which the tourists viewed reverentially.

It was 5 or 10 more minutes before Bobby Spencer had finished up his spiel and herded the crowd of tourists back onto the tour bus.  Then, after a count of heads, the tour bus lumbered away.

Merlin was about to drive forward, when Leland stayed his arm.

He nodded at where the actors and waiters were now gathering their things and boarding a small van.  After a while the small van lumbered away.  They sat for a while longer after, while Leland collected himself.  Then Leland nodded.  And Merlin drove the vehicle up into the yard where they parked.

Several minutes passed.  Then Merlin said, “You wanna get out?”

Leland nodded and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

After standing some, taking in the scene, Merlin naturally gravitated towards the barn and the animals, while Leland strode towards the house.

Photo by Carl Nelson

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 17, 2013
Trevor

Trevor

 

Merlin and Leland and his Euthanized Dog

(Episode 40)

 Merlin was already in town, so he dropped by Leland’s office and they walked out to the Sheriff’s SUV.

“Mind if I drive?”  Merlin asked, hopping into the driver’s seat.

Leland paused, finally taking the passenger’s seat.  “I’m just the Sheriff.  And this is the Sheriff of Kimmel County’s car.  Why would I mind?”  He frowned, pounding on the dash with both fists.

Merlin didn’t reply.  Instead, he started the vehicle and started heading north.

“North?”  Leland asked.

“That’s where the bodies were,” Merlin answered.

Leland rolled his eyes.

Merlin said, “No?”

Leland shook his head again, and indicated Merlin should keep driving.

“Okay.  Where are we headed then?”  Merlin asked after they had pulled out of town .  It was midday and the sun was high overhead.  Merlin turned on the air conditioner.

Leland never replied, his thoughts being on just what it is he might be missing.  Harriet had said, “Who are you working for, Leland?”  Which was a puzzle Leland had no answer for.  Why would Harriet think he was working for someone?  Or that he was other than he appeared to be?  He’d known Harriet since she was the lonely little fat girl, sitting in the room’s corner all through elementary school drawing pink and blue tractors, which plowed orange and purple rows.  He was guessing she owned maybe 3 dresses in all.

All Leland really knew about her in the thirty or more years that passed were that she was a lot shrewder than she looked, and that she never took bullshit from anyone.  Plus, she was a damned good shot with a rifle.  It wasn’t like Harriet to be believing random aspersions.  If Harriet hadn’t been ‘down to earth’, then no one was.  So…

Merlin pulled the car over with a quick swerve and stopped.

‘…why would Harriet say such a thing?’ Leland wondered again, grabbing the door jamb.

“Okay Leland.  I’m tired of this.”  Merlin fixed him with a look.

Leland was shaken out of his reverie.  He paused to think, as the clouds of dust dissipated around them.

“Are we breaking up?”  He smiled.

“And by the way, shut the fuck up,” Merlin said.

Leland nodded.

“I’m going to say some things, and I want you to listen.”

Leland raised his brows.

But it seemed Merlin was having a problem putting what he wanted to say into words.  Finally he spoke:  “Okay.  Here it is.  I didn’t kill your dog.  I ‘put him down’.  There’s a difference.”

“?”

Merlin raised his hands quickly.  “Let me finish.”

“I know how attached you were to Trevor.  It showed all over you.  Everyone knew it.  But he was riddled with cancer and in extreme pain and there was no denying it.  And euthanasia was the best thing we could do – YOU could do – given the circumstances.  And I don’t blame you for it.”  Merlin paused.  “So don’t blame me.”

Leland was astonished.  “I never blamed you for killing my … dog.”

“Oh yes you do!  You don’t know you do.  But you do, nevertheless.”

Leland didn’t know how a man could respond to this.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen it before.  It’s one of the commonest ways a Veterinarian loses his clients that there is around.  An animal lover loves his animal.  But the animal is suffering.  So the animal lover comes to the Vet and he asks, “What can we do?”

Leland thought about Trevor, which was interesting, as he hadn’t thought about Trevor in some time.  God he missed him.  Especially, what with all of the craziness of late.”

“Well,” Merlin turned towards Leland.  “The answer is, there isn’t much we can do.  We’re not God.  We don’t have those powers.  So we give them the choices.  I gave you the choice.”

“He was a great dog,” Leland interrupted.  “Just the very antithesis of all the craziness that has been going on around here of late.”

“And then we may even tell them what we would recommend.  But the owner makes the final choice.  And then, we put them down.”

“That’s what he was, Merlin.  That’s what Trevor was.  He was sane!”  Leland realized.

“What?”

“I can feel it so clearly now, after what’s just gone on around here.  What with all the awful, vulgar killings, and the shootings of the Weeds.  Trevor was absolutely sane.  And you just can’t say that much I’d guess for the rest of us.”  And inexplicably Leland could feel himself begin to bawl… great racking sobs.  “He was so sane.  So very sane.  He was just a great, sane dog!”

“Maybe I’m just crying for the loss of my sanity,” Leland said later, with a strangled laugh.

Twenty minutes later, Leland indicated to Merlin that he was ready to roll.  And Merlin started the vehicle and pulled out, heading north.

In another half hour things seemed in the vehicle as if they were back to normal.  Maybe even better than normal, Merlin thought, glancing over at Leland and then looking ahead.

“You know,” Leland said.  “It’s strange.  For the past few months I’ve felt as if I’d somehow gotten a chicken bone lodged in my throat.  But I couldn’t figure out where, or when.  And now, it’s gone.”  He swallowed a couple times.  “Yeah, it’s gone.”

“So you feel better?”

“Yeah.  I do.”

“Good.”  Merlin smiled.

Merlin nodded at a road sign and Leland nodded back.  They were almost there.  The Weed’s turn off was just up ahead on the left.

Photo from Google Images

From the Editor’s Perch

April 14, 2013
Gravity and Overeating are the Culprits

Gravity and Overeating are the Culprits

Two Tummies on a River Cruise.  (Notice how they lean backwards against the railing.)

Two Tummies on a River Cruise. (Notice how they lean backwards against the railing.)

Eliminating Lower Back Pain Immediately!

As we age we not only lose muscle mass, but we gain weight around our midline.  As can be seen in our diagram above, this can put tremendous stress on the already small muscles of our lower back.  When they become tired or strained, we hurt!  Here’s an immediate solution.

Look at this last diagram.  See how the happy man is supporting his lower abdomen in a finger woven ‘tummy sling’.  This immediately counters the downward pull of gravity on the lever arm of his protruding stomach.  The small muscles of the back are saved from strain.  The pain goes away.  This man is happy.

aaaaahhhhhHH!!!

aaaaahhhhhHH!!!

Plus, the woven fingers keep him from eating more, and more….

Stay tuned for more cheap, easy to use, health tips from your Editor, (as they occur to him), right here.

And P.S.  You may try this at home.  I’ve tried it out myself!

Photo and diagrams by Carl Nelson

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 13, 2013
Another town not far from Kimmel

Another town not far from Kimmel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qh-AG3brrkM&feature=youtu.be

Episode  7:  “We Got A Date i need your head”

Soundtrack Addition

A dear reader of Murders in Progress suggested this soundtrack for STAN, our serial killer.  I liked the idea, as I feel would have Eldon, if he could have foreseen such.  So we are adding it in order to make your reading experience that much richer.  I’ve captioned each with the suggested episode they would best garnish.  Enjoy!!

http://youtu.be/oOpnplMQmCg

Episode 29: ” Livin’ on the Down Low”

Photo submitted by blog
follower: Donn Trenton

Travelling Expenses

April 13, 2013
Paul Before (actually midway through production)

Paul Before (actually midway through production)

ROOM 13  –  Premier!

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/room-13-a-film?c=gallery

Well!  Movies take a little while to realize.  But Paul is almost there.  Above is a promotional clip made during its creation.   The upcoming release of his short, Room 13, will premier in the upcoming Seattle True International Film Festival on May 10, 6-9pm.  For full information, go to: http://lesslost.eventbrite.com/

And if your are interested in a breakdown of what it costs to create a movie, such as this…  (Note.  We have not measured the blood, sweat, and tears.)  Go to:  http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/room-13-a-film?c=activity

Paul After

Paul Afterwards, When It’s In the Can

Popcorn available! (everywhere good movies are shown).

Photos by Somebody.

Murders in Progress by Eldon Cene

April 9, 2013

Cornedge

Back to the Farm

(Episode 39)

 Carmella was beside herself.  The Café was jammed.  A line was snaking down the sidewalk outside.  And she had been on her feet and on the run since five that morning.  She had added five new waiters and three new cooks.  But they were new and had needed direction all the time.  But thank God she had happened on Stan.  She had full confidence he’d have the kitchen running like a well-oiled machine, in no time.  He seemed to have just taken over.  And nobody seemed to have complained, so “it was all good”, as her husband Pete would say.   Carmella supposed.  She would have loved to know how Stan managed what he had managed, but whatever.  It was the one bright spot in her increasingly frantic life.  ‘Actually,’ TWO brights spots.’  She wiggled her hips.

“Gotta make hay while the sun shines!  Right Sheriff,” Carmella chirped to a bleary Leland that next morning.

“Shut up, Carmella,” Sheriff Leland said, fingering his aching head, not his usual polite self.

Carmella rested her hip against the booth side as she refilled the Sheriff’s cup and murmured in confidence.  “I’m sorry Sheriff.  I don’t know what’s gotten into me.  I’m just kind of manic, what with all the activity of late, and my mouth bubbles off.  You know, we all, I mean the whole town appreciates the lengths you’re going to to find these killers.  It’s just that the Weeds getting killed has got the whole valley on edge.  Not that they were the most popular farmers around.  But they had been here for many generations.  So it’s kind of got everyone shook.  Me included, I suppose.”

“I appreciate that Carmella.”  Sheriff Leland nodded, touching his head in various spots.  “I truly do.”  He stirred his coffee.

“Okay then.”  Carmella tapped on the table.  “Coffee’s on the house.”

Leland nodded.  Then after Carmella left, he sighed.

‘That’s what I do,’ Leland scolded himself, ‘I sigh.  This town elects a Sheriff.  Murders occur.  And what does he do?  He sighs.’  Leland berated himself.

Leland thought for a moment, shook his head, and then pulled out his cell phone.

“Merlin?”  He said.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got work for you.”

Merlin didn’t respond.

“Pick you up in 10 minutes?”

There was a long pause.

“Sure,” Merlin replied.

Photo by Carl Nelson


%d bloggers like this: