Bounty hunting...

Short Story:

Prolog:

Stakeouts are the worst, especially if you’re sitting in the pouring rain. Usually in the movies, you’d be sitting in a nice van with about three other guys equipped with surveillance gear, coffee, donuts and maybe a TV to pass the time. In my case, I didn’t have the three guys, the gear or donuts. Not even a decent cup of coffee. I picked my coffee up from the Quickie Mart down the street; I think it was a mix of playground mud and ditch water. And, to top it all off, I was sitting in an open top Jeep.

-Chapter One: Come one come all-

So the list consisted of: crappy cup of coffee, soaking wet and no gear. All of this equals bad mood. In the end I guess it all falls back on my decision to pursue this line of work. When I finished my tour with the Rangers, an old army buddy told me that an easy way to make cash was bounty hunting. He said that it would help keep me active and I’d put all that Special Ops training to good use. So far I’ve worked two jobs, both of which could have been completed by a nine year old armed with a slingshot and a baby monitor. I haven’t always been a fan of Alaska, but it was starting to grow on me, like a fungus.
But hey, who’s complaining? Well, I guess I am, never mind, back to the task at hand. It was driving me nuts, water was pooling in my lap and getting into my binocular lenses and I was sneezing like crazy. The ‘98 Jeep was the only thing that the dealer had. At the time, while looking it over, it was a sunny yet cool afternoon. The forecaster said that it was supposed to stay in the mid sixties. He did not, however, mention anything about rain, thunder and lightening. It’s that freak Juneau weather. One moment it’s nice and clear, the next you’re needing an umbrella, or in my case, a swimsuit.
Kyle Riggs: three arrests for driving under the influence, one charge of assault, two charges of indecent exposure, possession of cannabis and breaking and entering. This guy has a rap sheet as big as a Blue Whale. Unfortunately for him, he jumped bail, and unfortunately for me, he’s the one I need to grab. The good news, though, would have to be that this little punk isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. When he jumped bail, he went to his grandma’s house to “hide out.” Now, all I need to do is wait for the old granny to leave and I can go snatch her sonny boy.
As I was watching, a hot pink Cadillac pulled out of the garage and proceeded to clunk and clatter its way up the street. Perfect chance! I jumped from the Jeep, spilling coffee all over as I did. I slipped and splashed my way across the street to the small brown bungalow. I was beginning to regret not wearing boots, the front lawn, if you can call it that, was a literal bog of grass, weeds and mud. I zigzagged my way between plastic flamingos towards the door. As I stumbled onto the porch a voice behind me said,
“And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” I turned around, knowing the source of the voice.


“Shelby McGee. I should’ve known you’d try for Riggs. What do you want?”

“Josh Bales, you twit! I’m here to take Riggs in you little berk! I’m doing a job!”

“Well, we’re both here, why don’t we just split this one?”

“You realize, us Scots don’t like you pushy Americans butting in on our stuff.”

“McGee, you’re in America, you big idiot. You’re pushing in on my stuff.”

“Shut your gob yank. Step aside and let a Scotsman show you how it’s done!”

With a mighty kick of his muddy boot he bashed the door in. Bursting off its hinges the door swung in on a tilt, like an injured bird’s wing. The two of us entered the house and began searching high and low for our man. I stopped to examine the contents of the fridge and was relieving it of a blueberry yogurt when Shelby’s voice drifted into the kitchen.

“Uh, Josh, I found Riggs. You should come here.”

I made my way down the hall, yogurt and spoon in hand. Shelby was standing in the bathroom, and Kyle Riggs was laying in the tub.

“You suppose there’s a reward if he’s dead? Looks like he drowned.”

I examined the body from a distance. “I’d say he was strangled.”

From behind us a scratchy voice assaulted our ears. 


“That’s exactly what happened!”

The sound of a shotgun being cocked echoed around the small space. Blueberry yogurt splattered across the pink linoleum floor as my eyes locked with McGee’s.

-Chapter Two:

“Well, you boys done stuck your noses where they don’t belong now didn’t cha’?”

The rasping voice belonged to an old lady dressed in what appeared to be a baby blue and yellow moo-moo. She had a bandoleer of shotgun shells draped around her stocky frame. Her nicotine stained teeth clicked together as she sized the men up. The Mossberg shotgun looked incredibly huge in her tiny wrinkled hands. I glanced at McGee and then back to the neon moo-moo. I knew we were thinking the same thing, and apparently so was she, the safety on the rifle clicked. She leveled it at us and grinned.

“Ma’am, you can put the piece down.”

“Like hell I am! You boys come on out here and sit in the living room while I call the sheriff!”

To Be Continued…

Update...

I was originally thinking that this blog would be primarily about Tropical Trouble, I've changed that up a bit. This is now just about new stories in general. Starting today!

Plans...

The first draft of this story is now in progress and a temporary title has been chosen.


TROPICAL TROUBLE

Chapter one....?

I've got a sampling of the first chapter, but I'm going to post it in sections. So please read and even leave a comment. 

Chapter One:

700 miles off the coast of the Hawaiian islands, there is an island about a mile and a half long and half a mile wide. This small strip of Pacific sand is populated by two interesting characters, who in fact, are also our main characters.

A warm tropical breeze sighed its way through the green boughs of the palm and coconut trees that were scattered across the beach. It played about the edges of Fly Away vacation brochures and folded pages of the New York Times, Honolulu Gazette and Superman comic books. A canvas hammock gently rocked in the warm gusts, its single occupant asleep under a Captain America comic book. Nearby, a wicker table was lodged in the sand surrounded by a litter of Bazooka bubble gum wrappers, old socks, maps, two empty bottles of pop and a pair of worn-out aviator boots.

To all you people....

Thank you all for following my blog. The sponsor that I have is giving out three prizes as you all may well know. Please leave a comment, questions, or even suggestions. :)

Christmas....?

The seasons are not as pronounced on the Frontier as they are in other parts of the world. Christmas is one of the only holidays that is actually observed by the sparse population of the Frontier. True, there may not be any douglas fir trees or angelic tree toppers, but there are usually christmas lights, carols, hot cider, hot coco in coconut cups, christmas garlands draped across dock posts and of course, stockings carefully hung on nails by small hands. Some pilots even pretend to be ol' Saint Nick from time to time. Flying over homesteads, dropping wrapped gifts tied to parachutes with candy canes bouncing in ribboned knots. Christmas is a joyous time of year, and everyone on the Frontier loves the time to celebrate. 




.......... Well, not everyone......... There's always the notorious Mr. Carnegie. He does not care for any type of holiday......

Contractors...

Contractors are the proverbial thorn in the side of Folsom & Jay. Homesteaders and natives of the Pacific prefer to use contractors for shipping, and even travel. Contractors venture outside normal shipping lanes and flight paths. Always looking to shave time off a trip in the hopes of a hansom tip. As well, contractors never question what is being shipped, whether it be bibles bound for Bangkok or sub-machineguns sent to San Diego. For these very reasons corporations like Folsom & Jay hate contractors. Folsom & Jay are able to make their own taxes and shipping costs due to the lack of government on the Frontier. Always trying to squeeze what they can out of their clients. In some cases Folsom & Jay have gone to the extremes of hiring a pirate submarine crew to stop the daily workings of contracted pilots and mariners.