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Don’t Move
by Pamela Ebel
Fear has a distinct odor. Visceral.
Invasive. That odor hung in the hot,
humid, October air of the Spice Island Swamp Game Reserve. The animals there
knew instinctively that in three weeks they would be hunted again by those carrying
guns as the season opened, and that produced fear.
Angie walked gingerly through the dried
leaves that covered the reserve’s
floor. She could smell the fear, looked carefully for the source of it, but saw
no animals. Steve moved quietly behind her. She stopped and turned around.
“Come up and walk with me. You
said we’d have a nice trail walk. So far
I’ve been alone up here.”
Steve stopped, the shotgun on his shoulder,
and considered his wife. He offered
her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m here to scope out where
the deer cross the stream. You just keep
walking and if you see something interesting, let me know.”
The smell of fear grew stronger as Angie
turned and started walking again.
Their conversations had become increasingly tense since her oil paintings had
found collectors who paid handsomely for her work.
“Guess you don’t need my
money anymore because some idiots are paying for
paintings?”
“That’s not true. You’re
a successful architect and I have always
appreciated your support. All of my earnings go into our joint account. It’s
all ours.”
Still, he spoke less, sulked more, and
bought more guns. Just a month
before, they had taken a trip to a barrier reef in the gulf. She had waded in
the cool water, enjoying the breeze.
Suddenly Steve had yelled, “Don’t
move!”
He fired his rifle into the water, bullets
just barely missing Angie.
“What are you doing?”
“Sharks! They’re all around
you.”
He stopped when a boat with fishermen
appeared. Neither Angie nor the
fishermen saw sharks. Steve shrugged and smiled.
Now as she walked, with Steve still
behind her, Angie realized that the
odor of fear was coming from herself. She started to tell him she was going
back to the car to get the picnic lunch ready.
“Plop!”
Something heavy fell from the tree behind
her. Angie heard a rustling
sound on the ground and then:
“Don’t move!”
The rustling grew closer, and the head
of the water moccasin appeared two
feet from her. It eyed her but kept moving toward the bank of the stream. She
heard Steve behind her, closer now. The snake paused and then leapt in the air
and cut in front of her.
“BOOM!”
The sound of the shotgun blast deafened
her hearing. Dirt and buckshot
swirled around and cut her skin. The odor of her fear made her nauseous. The moccasin
raced to stream and disappeared in the dark water.
“What are you doing? You could
have killed me! What were you thinking?”
Fear turned to anger as she stared into Steve’s eyes. “That snake was headed
for the water. He wasn’t any threat to me.”
“Only good snake is a dead snake.
And if I had wanted to kill you . . .”
He shrugged and smiled. “Come on, I think I see deer tracks on that bank where
the snake went in.”
He walked by her and sniffed the air.
“Strong odor. That’s what
hunted animals smell like, you know.”
Angie stayed rooted to the ground and
watched as her husband walked to the
bank, got down on all fours, laying the shotgun next to him, and looked for deer
tracks.
A movement in the tree above him caught
her eye. The moccasin was moving
slowly and quietly down the trunk.
“When I come to kill that buck
next month, I’m bringing you with me so you
can paint something worthwhile. What do you think about that?”
The moccasin continued down the tree
and onto a branch hanging directly
over Steve’s neck. It turned to look at her, nodded, then turned back, opened
its huge cotton mouth and let the fangs slip forward.
“Aren’t you going to say
something?”
As the moccasin started to drop, Angie
whispered,
“Don’t move.”
Sleeping
with Sharks! By Pamela Ebel Sheepshead Island, California July,
2005 “Alright everyone,
quiet down. We have one more storyteller to hear from. Maggie Bodean, welcome to the 45th
Annual Sheepshead Island Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo. You all know Maggie’s uncle was
Tommie ‘Tank’ Bodean. He passed away a few months ago and left her his fishing
camp. Maggie, we are really pleased you joined us today and we want to hear your fish tale
entry for the ‘Liars’ Contest’. Jack Casper smiled at Maggie and handed
her the microphone. “Thanks Mr.
Casper and thanks to all of you for the warm welcome. I spent every summer from the time
I was six to seventeen at Uncle Tank’s camp. I’ve been busy cleaning it up
which, if you knew Uncle Tank, you would know is a serious challenge.” Lots of laughter
followed.
“I wanted to be here to honor him as a founder who never missed a rodeo in 44 years.
More importantly, he was a frequent winner of the ‘Liars’ Contest’ and
while cleaning out his desk I found a letter he left me. He asked me to read it at the
next ‘Liar’s Contest’ after he was gone. So, here it goes, in Uncle Tank’s
own words:
‘I
want to thank my niece Maggie for agreeing to do this last favor for me. You all know the
Legend of Big White. The story goes that the Great White Shark got separated from his school
during a migration down to Mexico. Bad weather drove him into Shark Fin Cove and he took
up residence there. Those of us who grew up on the island know that many people were supposed
to have tried to catch Big White and disappeared without a trace. And most of the
islanders just say that the shark doesn’t exist except in the over-active and booze-filled
imaginations of the local fishermen.”
More laughter and raised beer cans in response to this. ‘Well
friends, I am going to share a story with you because I
didn’t want to leave without clearing up two mysteries. First, remember back in 1985
when Carl Magnus went missing? There were rumors that he might have left the country because
the Feds were investigating him for money laundering. That might have been true, but it
wasn’t what caused Magnus to disappear. No, he disappeared because of his love of
‘dirty laundry’. See, Carl was quite the ‘Ladies Man’. He’d
have affairs with the wives of prominent men and then blackmail them for his silence. One
of those husbands got in a fight with Magnus, hit him with a baseball bat and killed him.’
The crowd was completely silent and leaning toward the stage as Maggie looked out at them.
‘That husband was a longtime friend of mine, and came to my camp that night with
Magnus’ body in his car trunk asking for help. I never cared for Magnus and didn’t
think anyone else did either. I waited to midnight, then took Magnus to my boat, Ole Snake
Eyes, and cruised to Shark Fin Cove. I put two life jackets on the body so it would float
on top of the water like a large fish, wrapped a rope around it and hooked a Tarpon Fishing
Spoon to it. I lowered Magnus into the water and watched
him float out behind the boat. Then I started trolling slowly and chumming the water with
dead fish parts and blood and waited. Soon I saw a large fin appear and circle the boat
slowly. Then the fin got close to the wheelhouse and a head rose to the surface. Finally,
I was eye to eye with Big White. He swam around Ole Snake Eyes again, slowing to look at
me. He was huge, about 17 feet long and several hundred pounds.
He
disappeared briefly and I was afraid he might hit the boat. All of a sudden, I saw the
fin move back and then Big White rose up behind Magnus’s body. His huge mouth opened,
and his teeth sparkled in the moonlight. Then he picked up speed. In two quick bites Carl
Magnus disappeared forever. The only thing left was the Pet Spoon dangling from the rope.
I watched Big White circle the boat once more and eye me, then he sank back into the water.
I
waited a while then went back to my camp. I never saw the husband again and never shared
the story until now since everyone concerned has moved on. I went back to Shark Fin Cove
a few times later. I’d see the fin once in a while, but Big White never surfaced.
I decided his purpose was to dispose of all the bad things in life. The second mystery
I wanted to clear up, is that Big White is not a legend. He exists and I wanted you to
know how to get rid of a bad situation once and for all.’”
Maggie folded the letter and placed it in her pocket and looked out
at the crowd. There were a few minutes of silence and then the laughing and clapping began.
Mr. Casper announced that Tank Bodean had won the ‘Liars’ Contest’ in
absentia.
Taking the trophy, Maggie walked to the dock and boarded Ole Snake
Eyes. Thirty minutes later she cruised into Shark Fin Cove, set the engine on idle and
listened to the radio news that convicted serial killer Tipp Torres remained on the run
after escaping from a van taking prisoners for medical treatment. Authorities had been
looking in the Sheepshead Island area where Torres grew up, but hadn’t found him
yet. Maggie, however, knew just where Torres could be found. A half mile from Uncle Tank’s
camp was an abandoned fort where all of the island children played growing up.
Now she opened the tarp lying at her feet. Tipp Torres stared back
at her with a shocked look. She was grimly satisfied that the last thing he saw before
her bullet landed right between his eyes was the face of his sixth victim, her twin sister,
Lily.
She took Uncle Tank’s letter out of her pocket and placed it in
Torres’ mouth and lowered his body, with the two life jackets firmly in place, into
the water and secured the Tarpon Spoon to the rope. She watched as the body floated silently
out behind the boat. Grabbing the bucket
of fish guts, parts and blood Maggie chummed the water as she started trolling slowly.
After thirty minutes a huge fin appeared and circled the boat once.
Then near the wheelhouse the huge head rose out of the water and Big White smiled a toothy
grin at Maggie, drifted back and lined up behind Torres’ body. He picked up speed
as his giant mouth opened. Later, as
she pulled the fishing spoon and rope in, Maggie looked at the moon and smiled. “Thanks for sharing
the Legend of Big White, Uncle Tank. Sometimes the only revenge to be had when bad things
happen is ‘Sleeping with Sharks."
Dead
Men Don’t Text! by Pamela
Ebel Julia sipped her second cup of coffee and
studied her appointment book. Three new clients wished to schedule events through her company,
and she needed to finish her proposals. A sharp knock brought her to the front door of
her apartment. Standing in the hallway were two men dressed in business suits. “Julia Frazer?” “Yes,
I’m Julia Frazer.” I’m
Detective Clark Dillon and this is Detective Carl Ellis. We would like to ask you a few
questions, if you don’t mind.” Julia looked at the credentials the two
men offered and handed them back. “Questions about what, gentlemen?” Detective
Dillon, clearly the point man, opened a note pad. “We
have received a ‘Missing Person’ report about a Travers Muller.
His roommate says he has not seen or heard from Mr. Muller in five days. We are contacting
anyone listed in Muller’s Appointments Book and your name appears several times.
Do you know Travers Muller?” “Yes, I know Travers.” “How
long have you known him, and have you seen him recently?” “We
met about three months ago at an investment club meeting that
my event company catered. He was giving a speech about investment opportunities.” The
detectives looked at each other and Dillon made a note. “We
went for coffee afterward and since then, we have gone out
several times. Nothing serious on my part, although I thought he wanted more commitment.
I haven’t seen Travers in several days because of my work schedule. You said he’s
missing?” “That’s what his roommate claims. He
has tried calling and texting Muller’s cell phone and had no response.” Julia
walked to her desk and picked up her phone. “That’s odd, because Travers
texted me yesterday morning. He said, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Will you meet
me at The Landing tonight at 7:00 and be my Valentine?” She
showed the text message to the detectives. “I
had nothing better to do, and The Landing is one of my favorite restaurants so, I texted
yes. I arrived a little before 7:00 and there was a reservation in Travers’s name.
I ordered a drink and waited about 30 minutes. Then I received this text from him: ‘Had
an emergency. Can’t come. Explain later. Sorry, Travers.’ I explained to the
hostess, paid for my drink and came home. When I got here, there were that dozen red roses,
a bottle of champagne, and a box of chocolates by the door with a card—‘Sorry
Valentine but more later.’” “No information on a florist? Anything
on who delivered these?” “Nothing. Anyone can enter the building.
I haven’t heard from him since last night. I wish I could be of more help.” “Well,
we appreciate your time and information. I’ll leave my card
in case you hear anything.” “Of course. I certainly hope he’s
all right.” “Well, we have information that the FBI is
also looking for Muller as a suspect in an investment fraud scheme that preys on retirees.
He probably got wind of that and took off. I mean dead men don’t text, do they?” Julia shared a laugh with the detectives as they
heard an approaching trash truck. “Oh, I didn’t get this out to
the curb. Would you mind just giving it to the man? It’s full of cat litter.” Dillon
took the bag gingerly, and she watched from the window as
the trashman threw it into the truck obliterating the litter and the pieces of Travers’s
destroyed cell phone. Taking a sip of the champagne she had saved, along with the flowers
and candy, from one of her events, Julia read one final time, the note her parents had
mailed her six months earlier. After being swindled out of their life savings in another
retirement town, they had taken their own lives. Julia
stood and tossed the note into her fireplace. The paper turned
to ashes, like those of her parents, now sprinkled in a lake near their home. She stared
out at the lake near her apartment with a grim nod to another watery grave and raised her
glass. “To You Mom and Dad. Dead Men Don’t Text
and They Don’t Steal Anymore, Either!” Happy Hour at the Grown Folks Bar By Pamela Ebel “Do you need some ice?” Cliff Simms leaned over the bar and
held a scoop of ice cubes out to Robin Carter, who sat staring at her glass of Old Overholt on the
rocks. “No
thanks Cliff. I have enough ice to smooth the rye a bit.” She smiled and held the glass up.
“See?” “I
didn’t mean ice for your drink. It might help with the…” He reached his hand toward
the egg sized bruise on Robin’s cheek that wasn’t quite hidden by her auburn hair. She
backed away with a flinch and Cliff pulled his hand back quickly. “It’s okay Cliff. I’ll put some
ice on it when I get home. Thanks for the thought though.” The
clock on the wall behind the bar came to life suddenly as an ancient Cuckoo
appeared and announced that it was 4:00 p.m. Across the room a sign in the window lit up in red,
white and blue neon with a flashing message that “It’s Happy Hour at the Grown Folks
Bar.” There was
a loud cheer from the crowd standing at the other end of the bar room. Sticks and balls were flying
around the pool table and the sticks and balls attached to the men in their red ball caps grew larger
every time another round of drinks appeared. “You got him Slim!” “Yeah, Slim go ahead and sink the 8 ball
so we can start on the Happy Hour specials.” More
laughing and comments and then, total silence as the man leaning over the pool table called the
pocket and the 8 ball rolled down the table and disappeared. Then a great cheer as the
tall man slapped the back of his losing competitor and took three hundred-dollar bills off the rail. “First Happy Hour Round is on
me, Cliff!” Jeff
Slim Carter emerged from the sea of red ball caps, pulling his off to smooth a thick mane of black
hair. He looked down the bar at Robin who had turned her attention back to her drink.
“Be
sure to give my wife a fresh drink too. Maybe it will improve her mood. What do you think, Robin?”
He moved
to her side and yanked Robin’s shoulder toward him. “You need to fix your hair better.
That little bruise is showing. Wouldn’t want the gang to get the wrong idea.” Robin winced as Slim pushed his
fingers into her shoulder. Cliff appeared
with a fresh rye on the rocks, even though she had barely touched the first one, and a bourbon and
coke for Slim, who smiled broadly as the front door opened. “Just the man I’ve been waiting for. Derek,
how you been? Cliff, get Derek whatever he wants. Do you have something for me?” “Sure, do Slim. Right here!”
Derek handed over a small paper bag. “My
Happy Hour Pills! Robin, put this bag in your purse. Derek, we can all go over to Carol’s.
She’s having her usual Friday Open House and there is always plenty of booze and new faces,
if you know what I mean. Robin here, usually just sits and nurses one drink all
night. Maybe tonight you can do something besides sit like a stump!” Slim pushed Robin’s shoulder sharply, causing
her to slip off the bar stool. The two men laughed as she struggled to get back up. “Let me do
one thing and then we can leave. I got a hundred-dollar bill here says I can clear the table in
under two minutes. Any takers?” One
of the men stepped up and placed two fifties on the rail and everyone
made a space for Slim. He picked a cue stick and then let the challenger break the balls. With a
timer selected everyone grew quiet, all eyes on the table. Everyone, including, Cliff was looking at
Slim or staring at watches. Everyone except Robin. Suddenly a cheer went up as the
pool table was cleared in a minute and thirty seconds. Another
round of Happy Hour Drinks was ordered and Slim downed another bourbon and coke at the pool table.
Returning to where Robin sat, he pulled the paper bag out of her purse, placed it in his
jacket pocket and downed his remaining bourbon and coke. “Time
to go to Carol’s. Get your coat.” “I don’t feel well. I want to go home,
please. You can just drop me off and then go on over.” “Taking you home is going to take me twenty
minutes out of the way. Either come with me to Carol’s or find you own way home.” He
grew loud and sneered at her. “Alright,
I’ll get a taxi. I just don’t feel well. I’m sorry.” “Yeah, you’ll be really
sorry later tonight, Bitch. But I need to get going. I’ll see you guys in a while.” He saluted the
sea of red ball caps, shot Robin one more threatening sneer and went out the door. She heard his Harley fire up and
watched through the window as he screeched out of the parking lot. She turned back just as the bartender
picked up Slim’s empty glass, rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher. “I am going to the Ladies Room,
Cliff. Back in a moment.” Robin
walked down the hallway to the bathroom and looked backed to see that no one else was coming. She
entered and locked the door behind her. Inside the stall she took out a tissue
containing two empty pill capsules, dropped it into the toilet, pushed the handle and watched as
it swirled rapidly downward and disappeared. Back at her seat at the bar Robin looked at the
clock again as Cliff offered to give her a ride home. “In twenty minutes, it will be 6:00 p.m.
and another Happy Hour will be over for another Friday night and my shift will be over, too. I would
be glad to give you a ride and spare you the cost of a taxi.” “Thanks Cliff. That would be
great!” The
next Friday Robin entered the bar just as the Cuckoo made his appearance and announced it was 4
p.m. The red, white and blue neon sign blinked to life indicating that it was once again Friday
night “It’s Happy Hour at the Grown Folks Bar.” The room grew silent as the pool players
and their audience of red ball caps stared at her. Finally, one man stepped out, removed his cap
and offered her the group’s condolences for the death of her husband. The paper had reported that on
Friday evening a week ago, Jeff Slim Carter had lost control of his motorcycle and crashed into
Tillman’s Gorge dying instantly. An autopsy report indicated that he had ingested a lethal
dose of barbiturates along with alcohol a half hour or so before the accident, causing him to lose
consciousness. The police traced his movements to a local bar, where the bartender confirmed that
he had consumed four bourbon and cokes before leaving. The article noted that his wife
did not leave with her husband because she was ill. Funeral arrangements were pending. Robin pulled Slim’s red ball
cap out of her purse and handed it to the man. Then she took out a hundred-dollar
bill and placed it on the bar. “I
know Slim would have wanted his cap retired here and I know he would want to leave you with good
memories. So, Cliff, please give a Happy Hour round to the house in honor of my husband.” Everyone cheered and raced to
place their order. The man who had accepted the ball cap hung it high on the cue rack and everyone
toasted Jeff Slim Carter. Cliff gave
Robin her rye on rocks. She took a couple of sips and looked at the Cuckoo Clock. “I have to get going. I have
a pot roast in the oven and I don’t want it to burn.” She stood, raised her glass to the
red ball cap hanging on the cue rack, took a quick sip of rye, set it on the bar and walked to the
front door, taking one more look at the neon sign announcing “It’s Happy Hour at the
Grown Folks Bar.” Cliff
called out, “Pot Roast is my favorite.” “I know. I’ll see you about 6:30.” Then Robin opened the door and
disappeared into the night.
Hacked Off! By Pamela Ebel July
4, 2019 The Embarcadero, Pier 23 Parking Lot San Francisco 5:00 a.m. Alexi Gorev had never considered himself
in danger because of his job as a computer hacker for the Russian cybergroup Evil Corp.
So, he was completely surprised when the darts hit him. As Gorev’s breathing stopped a gloved hand reached
down, removed the darts from his chest and arm and walked quietly from the garage. July 4, 2019 Cerberus Cyber Security, Market Street San Francisco 6:30 a.m. “Good morning, Ms. Vale. You are
in earlier than usual I see. Think that is going to get you moved up in the pecking order
maybe? Think the boss might show up this early and realize you need a better office? A
better view? Something better than what I have just because you’re a woman and have
a law degree?” Steve
Laxle glared at Claudia Vale as he stood at her office door. He had opposed her hiring
based on his belief that women couldn’t do the type of security work Cerberus engaged
in as one of the FBI’s private sector partners. “Good morning, Steve. I am just about
to get into the assignment on the latest hack of bank accounts over in Marin County. I
wanted a little quiet time to assess the chatter we picked up between the Kremlin and their
main hacking unit in Evil Corp.” “Who
gave you that assignment? I sure as hell didn’t. I was planning on starting on it
tomorrow.” “I
got a call from Special Agent Bricker over at FBI headquarters yesterday. You had already
left for the day. He told me to get on the assignment as soon as they started to send the
encrypted messages over. I started last night, I had some personal business I had to take
care of earlier this morning. When it was finished, I came here to keep working on the
assignment.” “Personal
business before 6:00 a.m.? Really? We will just see about this. Hold off on any more work
until I speak with Bricker.” As
Laxle stormed out Claudia turned and picked up the photo of her aunt Paula who had died
of a heart attack when her entire savings had been stolen in a local hacking scheme a few
months earlier. After four
months of law enforcement officials at all levels failing to capture or get any leads on
the hackers, Claudia had used her security clearance to do some sleuthing of her own, finding
an ‘off the grid money mule operation’ skimming thousands from their employers
in the Russian government. She had approached Laxle with great expectations and excitement. “Steve, I think I have a lead on
some local hackers who might be responsible for that bank account hack back in January.
I put together a brief for you.” She
had placed her information on his desk. “Ms.
Vale, just because you have a last name like the reporter that had Batman all a flutter,
doesn’t make you a crime fighter in the real world. I have bigger issues.” He had pushed the brief back to her, turned
to his computer, ending the conversation. So, she had returned to her office and clicked
into the Russian chatter about missing money and dug deeper. Finally, two weeks ago she had discovered the identities
of the four men responsible for the hack. She tried again. “Steve, I think I have narrowed down the list
of Russian Nationals on the January hack. Should we send this over to Bricker? He’s
been looking for the connection.” “It’s
like I keep telling you MS, VALE! I decide what we send and when we send it over to the
FBI.” Realizing
her situation Claudia had returned to her office and planted anonymous information into
the FBI’s data system to indicate that Evil Corp. had received orders from the Kremlin
to eliminate the ‘off-grid skimmers’ in the usual manner. As she knew they
would, the Bureau assumed that meant using some type of poison. Then she waited for their
call. Laxle appeared
at her office door again. “Bricker says you told him you didn’t know where
I was yesterday when he called. I told everyone I was calling it a day.” “I
didn’t think you wanted me telling the head of the local Bureau office that you had
gone home for the day at 2:30 in the afternoon, Steve.” Claudia
attempted to look contrite as he stomped out. She rose to make sure he was gone and closed
her door. Sitting back down, she touched her aunt’s photo as she picked up the phone
and made a dinner reservation. “Pay
Back Time, Aunt Paula!” July
4, 2019 Cliff House
Restaurant San Francisco
6:00 p.m. Kori Litov
sipped his vodka martini at the Cliff House bar and listened as a local newscaster reported
on another citizen death from an apparent overdose of some form of barbiturate. The reporter
stood in front of the Pier 23 Parking Lot. “The still unidentified man was found by a
cleaning crew in that parking garage this morning about 6:00 a.m. The coroner on scene
said that man had a couple of needle marks.” Litov
thought of calling his friend and co-worker Alexi Gorev, who parked his car in that garage,
to see if he knew the guy, but decided another martini and then a walk down on the Seal
Rocks would be more fun. He was also distracted by the lovely black-haired beauty that
he had been visiting with. “I
love your accent. Where did you say you were from?” She
smiled at Litov, who was feeling the effects of the third martini. “I
didn’t say. But I am from Moscow.” “OOH!
A Russian! I have always wanted to meet a real Russian.” She
smiled slowly. “It’s stuffy in here. How about a walk on Seal Rocks?” “My favorite place here in this city! Yes! Let
us walk!” Litov walked
unsteadily onto the slippery rocks as the waves crashed up toward him Between
the wind and the barking of the seals he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him and
didn’t feel the sharp jab of the dart into his arm. July
6, 2019 The Haight
Apartments San Francisco
7:30 p.m. Maxsim Turashev
and Igor Kaspersky sat in their apartment drinking shots of vodka and listening to the
news reports that two Russian Nationals had been found dead two days before. The Coroner
had released the cause of death of both men as an overdose of barbiturates, delivered into
the skin tissue. “I
think someone has found our ‘Money Mule’ Igor. You know that Litov and Gorev
didn’t use drugs. Our government uses poisons to get rid of people. The Kremlin knows
everything going on here through Evil Corp. We’ve worked for the cartel for three
years with no trouble until you started shifting funds into the hidden money laundering
account.” “We
don’t know what our friends did in their spare time. Maybe they used the extra money
for drugs, or women, or whatever. But one thing we can’t do is look worried or do
anything different in case we are being watched. If someone asks, we didn’t know
anything about anything. Do you understand?” “Yeah!
But look, we have a big bank roll now. It’s about $500,000 each! Let’s head to
the island. We could live nice. When the heat is over, maybe we could relocate somewhere
else and start ‘money mule’ again. Right now, I don’t think it’s safe
to keep going.” “You are such a worrier. We’re just two
more young bachelor geeks working in Silicon Valley. If we try to leave, they will know
we did something wrong. Besides, the hacking is easy. Americans are so gullible. They believe
anything if you are polite and smile while you pick their pockets and computers.” Igor poured another shot of vodka and stared
out the window as their new neighbor walked up the stairs to the apartments. He smiled
as he remembered how scared and upset she had been when he ran the hacking program that
shut down her home lap top. “I
mean really, where else would we find such gullible people like this woman next door? After
I froze her computer, she fell for the line about accessing her debit card to protect the
funds we hadn’t really ‘taken’. We got a nice $12,000 from her and didn’t
have to leave the apartment. We can ride the hidden mule a bit more. We just have to act
natural.” Claudia
Vale entered the apartment she had rented next to the remaining two hackers responsible
for the theft of her aunt’s savings account. The apartment had become available when
she sent the previous occupant an anonymous tip that his ex-wife had discovered his address
and was planning to serve him with suit for back child support. She
had used an alias and a black wig and glasses to disguise her blond hair when renting the
apartment and then let the Russians hack her computer to make sure she had the right actors.
After making a quick visit to the area around the Sather Gates in Berkley, Claudia set
her final plan in motion. Now, hearing
the remaining Russians’ laughter, she took the bottle of Mamont Vodka and two shot
glasses out of the freezer and placed them in a liquor store paper bag, freshened her lipstick,
checked to be sure the hall was clear and knocked on their door. “Ms. Smith, what a surprise!”
Maxsim offered his best
‘fox in the hen house’ smile. “We
haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Julie Smith. The manager said my
neighbors were from Russia and I wanted to give you a gift to start what I hope will be
a long, fruitful friendship.” She
took the bottle and shot glasses out of the bag and held them up. “Mamont!
We have not seen that here in the states. What a great gift. Please come in and have a
toast with us.” Maxsim grabbed
the bottle and glasses and stepped aside to let her enter the apartment. She watched as
Igor took the bottle, placed it on the dining table and pulled the cork out. “I’m afraid I can’t join
you in a toast tonight. I have an ear infection and antibiotics and alcohol don’t
mix. But I will be done with the prescription tomorrow. Perhaps I can return to toast then?” Igor was already pouring the vodka into
two extra-large shot glasses. “That
would be wonderful. If there is any left!” She
slipped her hand into the paper bag and waited as the two men lifted their glasses. “Za Zda ro’ vye! To Your Health!” They shouted loudly and downed
the vodka. They both took another shot, then began to cough and choke. As the three-minute
mark approached Maxsim and Igor had fallen to the floor in respiratory distress. In
fifteen minutes the two men lie silently side by side. Claudia
removed her hand from the bag, picked up the vodka bottle and shot glasses and slipped
them into it. They joined the empty vial of barbiturates she had purchased easily from
a vendor at the Sather Gates. She reached into her pocket
and pulled out a mini-bottle of champagne and raised it over them. “To Your Health Indeed!” She drank quickly and placed that bottle
in the paper bag, opened the door, checked to be sure there was no one in the hall and
took the elevator to the empty lobby. At the corner of Haight and Ashbury she dropped the
bag into an incinerator the Italian restaurant operated 24/7 and watched as everything
melted and disappeared into the pile of ashes. The tranquilizer gun now slept with the
fish at the bottom of the bay. Back
at her building Claudia noted that the neighbors’ place was deathly quiet. She packed
her computer and the few belongings she had brought in a carpet bag, swept the apartment
clean, as the FBI had trained her to do, and exited the deserted lobby. She stepped into
an alley and removed the wig and glasses, placed them in a bag, and stopped at the incinerator
one more time. She
caught a bus to her car and returned to her office at Cerberus. She emailed FBI Special
Agent Bricker the information she had uncovered on the hidden “money mule”
hacking operation, (leaving out the names of the four Russians) and included a copy of
her original report. She imagined Steve explaining how he had failed to follow up. She returned to her own apartment. Sitting
at her desk Claudia smiled, as she read the framed quote on the wall above it: Vengeance must be Profound
and Absolute! In her bedroom, Claudia Vale turned off the lights and
slept well for the first time in ages.
Venom! Pamela Ebel “You
did what? John, how could you?” “Why the big fuss, Jan? I ran
into Bob Harris downtown yesterday and he mentioned he thought our wedding anniversary
was coming up. Remembered being my Best Man and that wild Bachelor Bash, he gave me. I told him about the party and gave him the date
and time. So, he and Chris got a divorce. Half of our friends from the early days are divorced.
This is my anniversary party too, and I don’t feel right about not having him come.
I know it will be a bit difficult with Holly coming, but we’re adults Jan, not teenagers.” “What
do you mean ‘with Holly coming?’ Surely that asshole isn’t planning
to drag that woman to our gathering. You should have asked me first. Christine is still
coming to terms with Bob cheating on her, and with their son’s college professor!
Bob even told her that he found someone more his ‘intellectual equal.’ Chris
has always struggled with not getting her degree like the rest of us.” “Well, if she hadn’t gotten
herself pregnant in our freshman year…” “I’m
sorry, John. I thought it took two people to make a baby. I never heard Bob suggest Christine
raped him!” “God,
I wish you hadn’t started taking that Feminist History course. Just get a grip and plan the party. Bob is
going to announce his engagement to Holly Sutter then! I am going to be late for work.” An hour after her husband left,
Jan called Christine. “Hey
Chris, how you doing this morning?” “Pretty well today. Just got
back in from my run and headed to the yoga class you recommended. I also need to go look
for a dress for your party. I bet you’re getting excited.” “Well, the party is the reason
I’m calling. John invited Bob without telling me. He also said Bob wants to bring
Holly Sutter and announce their engagement!” There
was total silence from Christine. “Chris, are you all right? Are
you still there? Say something, please!” “Jan,
I just can’t face him and that woman and our friends so soon. It has only been three
months since the final decree. Everyone will know how long his relationship was going on
and thinking how stupid I am. I can’t talk right now.” After hanging up with Jan, Christine
dialed a long-distance number. “You
have reached the home of Dr. Sue Richardson. Please leave your name, number and a brief
message and I will return your call as soon as possible.” “It’s your Sissy Chrissy,
Suzie Q. I’m having a really bad day and I need to talk to you. Bob is going to marry
that Sutter woman soon. Please call me!” Two
weeks later, when the research group she was leading in the Congo got back to cell reception,
Sue Richardson heard the message. After several calls she reached her sister’s
friend Jan, who shared the events of the day the message was left. “I called her all day, Dr. Richardson.
Finally, I asked her son to please go check on her. He found Chris in the bedroom with
the empty sleeping pill bottle. We didn’t know how to reach you. The funeral was
two weeks ago. I am so sorry.” Six
months later, Dr. Sue Richardson stood in the front yard of her new house, watching the
moving truck depart. “Hello
there!” She
turned to see a petite, lithe woman approaching from the house next door. “Hello! I wanted to be the first
to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Professor Holly Sutter. I didn’t notice
anyone else. Are you married?” “I’m
Dr. Sue Richardson, and no, I am not married.” Sutter looked disappointed. “You’re a doctor? What’s your
specialty?” “Snakes!” “I beg your pardon? Did you say
snakes?” “Yes.
I just took a position with the local zoo. I am a herpetologist and will be upgrading the
reptile and amphibian exhibit and improving the local display.” “We don’t have snakes in this
area! I have lived here for five years and I have never seen a snake!” Sutter looked
down at the ground as she spoke. “Well,
perhaps you haven’t seen any, but we are only a few miles from the Shell Bayou Wildlife
Reserve that has a wonderful gathering of snakes.” Sutter offered a brief welcome
wish and left. A
month later, Professor George Bradley drove up to Sutter’s house. She had recently
announced the end of her engagement to Bob Harris and her plan to marry Bradley after his
divorce was final. Mrs. Crowley, who lived across the street, told Sue that Bradley was
the fifth man in five years to leave his wife for Sutter, who dumped all the others
after their divorces. Bradley
smiled broadly as he exited his car with a huge bouquet of red roses. “Is this a special day, with
roses, professor?” “Extra-special.
I moved up our marriage date to coincide with our Thanksgiving break. Holly has been
procrastinating. But not anymore. Wish me luck.” Sue
nodded as he headed for the front door. Luck won’t help you, she thought and
turned back to her Halloween decorations. Shortly after, she heard yelling
and watched as Bradley came out the front door, waving to an ambulance pulling up in Sutter’s
driveway. “Hurry,
she’s in the jacuzzi in the back yard. I can’t get a pulse!” Within minutes police cars and
the coroner’s van filled the driveway. One officer was stationed outside to fend
off the gathering neighbors. An hour later the ambulance attendants drove off alone. Then,
a gurney appeared, rolling the covered body of Professor Holly Sutter to the van. A distraught
George Bradley appeared next, surrounded by two police officers. “I can’t understand how she
could be dead from snake bites. There are no poisonous snakes in this area! I didn’t
see a snake. Have any of you ever seen snakes roaming around here?” he shouted at
the crowd, all of whom seemed stunned by the question. Later
Sue watched the noon news: “The
preliminary coroner’s report indicates that Professor Holly Sutter apparently entered
the jacuzzi portion of her pool last evening and did not see, what was thought to be a
water moccasin, in it. She had multiple bites, was unable to summon help and was found
dead by her fiancé, Professor George Bradley, early this morning.” In the late afternoon, Sue finished
decorating and drove out of town to the Shell Bayou Wildlife Reserve. She carried a cardboard
box to the edge of the water, set it down and opened it. A four-foot-long water moccasin
slithered out and headed to the bayou, disappearing into the muddy water. Sue then walked a path that led
from the reserve to the Green Hills Cemetery and stood before a headstone. The inscription
was simple: Christine Anna
Harris August, 1987
– June, 2021 Grant Her Peace!
“It’s over, Sissy.
The Serial Seductress is done. You can Rest in Peace Now!” Sue left one red rose on the grave and started to walk away. Hearing a rustling noise, she turned back to see the moccasin curled
at the top of the grave with the rose in its mouth.
Pamela Ebel has been published
in Shotgun Honey, The BOULD AWARDS 2020 Anthology, as well other venues. Her poetry has appeared
in the Delta Poetry Review. A native of California, she now concentrates on tales
from her original home state and tales from the highways of the South. She also knows, like the
Ancient Greeks and the Irish, that as a southern writer you can’t outrun your
blood. She has turned
to writing full time as of 2020, obviously either perfect or bizarre timing, and this
will be her fifth career. She lives in Metairie, Louisiana, with her husband and two
cats.
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