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    A Decade
    A Decade
    A Decade
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    A Decade

    By Michael Reiter

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Ten short stories - some to make you smile, some to make you shudder. Tales of the Fantastic and the Macabre for people who love speculative fiction. Be a visitor to these worlds, just a little off-kilter.

    The stories are:

    "Unwanted Attention": Running a business can be risky, but no one signs up for this.
    "To the Steppes": What really happened out there?
    "Better Angels": A morning swim is a great way to start your day.
    "A High Cost": Classic fantasy in an alternate history.
    "Unhealthy Obsession": You know the old cliche - be careful what you wish for.
    "Pride's Master": Hunger masters everything.
    "The Mark of Cain": Is this really fiction, or is this ready now?
    "Bolthole": "War is hell", but it can get worse.
    "Working Stiffs": If you think you had a bad day at the office...
    "Damned if You Do": Command can be a heavy burden.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael Reiter
    Release dateJan 2, 2011
    ISBN9781458048028
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      Book preview

      A Decade - Michael Reiter

      A Decade

      Tales of the Fantastic and the Macabre

      by Michael Reiter

      Published by Michael Reiter at Smashwords

      Copyright Michael Reiter 2011

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a Work of Fiction

      This book and all stories in it are a work of fiction. Events are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Table of Contents

      Unwanted Attention

      To the Steppes

      Better Angels

      A High Cost

      Unhealthy Obsession

      Pride's Master

      The Mark of Cain

      Bolthole

      Working Stiffs

      Damned If You Do

      Unwanted Attention

      I need help.

      Hell, I need more than help – I need rescue. Know anyone in the Navy SEALs? 101st Airborne? Tell them to bring friends. But please, send help.

      Here's the deal. You don't know me and you are probably kind of a lowlife (sorry, but people who pick up empty beer bottles near the freeway are generally not the cream of society), but you were curious enough to pull this roll of paper out of the bottle and you have read this far, and I hope you will continue reading so you will know why I need a rescue. I just need you to suspend disbelief. Pretend you are reading a comic book or watching a movie or listening to a politician.

      I run a bar. More accurately, I used to run a bar, but if I get out of this I will go back to my business and you, my friend, will get free beer for life. More incentive to keep reading. I ran a great place, and life was fine. It started out as nothing special, just another place for truckers to stop and get a bite and a beer. 1st exit right off the Chesapeake Bay bridge, on the other side, the Eastern Shore. Early on, though, I got smart, or maybe just lucky. I hired on a new cook, Bobby. Bobby was a wizard with barbecue sauce – not the starry robe and pointy hat kind, but the I'd drive miles out of my way for some of that tasty 'Q sort. Word got around and suddenly my little hole in the sand was the place to be. People would drive over the bridge - $2.50 toll and 4.3 miles suspended 186 precarious feet over the Bay – just for some takeout. Best of all, Bobby's sauce was just the right kind of spicy – spicy enough to bite, not so spicy that only the fanatical few would eat it - and seriously thirst inducing. I ran the numbers – every barbecue meal sold two extra beers, at a 300% markup. Business was so good that I started planning to open another place in Baltimore. I even let myself think about a chain – real money coming in, not juggling to make payroll one week and pay my suppliers the next. I was a happy man, but happiness is ephemeral, and the Declaration only talks about the pursuit of happiness. Roping and hog-tieing the bastard is strictly an individual responsibility, and there are other folks who genuinely feel that their pursuit is more important than mine. Some of those folks can be very persuasive.

      Monday nights tended to be pretty slow. Working people spent their cash over the weekend, showed up late Monday morning, and have to stay late to make it up. Hence, fewer visits to my place. There were always a few, and some who preferred a place when it's slow. Quieter, no press of crowds. I had no complaints with those folks – they kept me going from peak to peak. One Monday, however, we got the bridge toll booth operators coming off a shift, still in uniform. Half a dozen, and an uglier crowd I'd rarely seen. I don't mean unruly – bouncers take care of the rough trade. I mean ugly. The kind of ugly that would make a plastic surgeon despair. The kind of ugly that goes more than skin deep. The kind of ugly that puts you in a toll booth where no one looks at you as you count out the change. They were quiet, though, and their money was green and free-flowing so they were my kind of customers. For a while.

      These people were not just ugly, but big. I'm a big man – six foot two and 225, most of it still muscle from hauling cases and kegs, not too far gone to fat for a man of 40. These folks made me feel small. And yet they weren't particularly tall or broad – just really, really hard and compact. No – not compact, for that sounds small. They were dense – like the muscle was made of stone. And the one who seemed to be their boss, the Über Ügly, was very definitely the biggest of all. I was mentally betting that he would order asphalt and striping paint instead of chicken and beer when he waved me over. I went over – curiosity killed the cat, you know.

      Good evening, he said. His voice was deep, basso profundo. Out of that body it sounded right, although he spoke oddly, with little lip movement. I wanted to congratulate you on your success. This is a fine place, very fine. We owe much of our success to you.

      Eh? What kind of success do toll takers have from bars? Thank you, but I'm not sure what I could have done.

      He laughed, a tight lipped laugh that showed no teeth. You are here, on the other side of the bridge! You generate tolls!

      Well. I had no idea that the guys in the toll booth had a stake in the toll collections. In fact, as low level beneficiaries of local government patronage jobs, I would have thought that the fewer tolls collected, the better – watch a little portable TV all day, do the lightest possible work, get paid. Apparently I was wrong, and this gentleman was happy to disabuse me of erroneous notions.

      He leaned forward, speaking earnestly. I read in the paper that you are planning to open another bar in Fell's Point. I wish I could say that I look forward to visiting there, but I rarely get so far from home. I would also be disappointed if the atmosphere here suffered for lack of customers. In fact, I think it is a bad idea for you to open this other place. I advise against it. Strongly. The veiled threat hung behind the low rumble of his voice.

      I thought I'd heard everything, but this was the first time I'd ever heard a threat – in my own place, no less. Who was this guy? Pal, I don't know who you are, but I'm not looking for any business advice from you. I haven't seen you in here before, so I don't know how you can be concerned about my atmosphere, but that's my worry, not yours. I make the decisions – no one else. Was he mobbed up? He looked more like muscle than capo. Tell your bosses they can go pack sand for all I care. You can leave now – and take your knuckle-dragging friends with you.

      Über leaned back and rumbled out a chuckle. I'm not here for trouble, and it's no matter to me what you decide. I just pass along information. Enjoy your life. With that he laughed and headed out the door, his buddy uglies trailing him. I stood at the table, shaking with anger, and not a little fear. If mob types were after a piece of me I was in trouble, no doubt, but I didn't have enough to shake down profitably -and if I didn't open another place they couldn't shake me down there either. It didn't seem to make sense, but why look for sense from thugs? It didn't matter – I wasn't going to be ordered around. Within a week I started prep for the new place.

      I had nothing but trouble all the way. I never heard from Über, or saw anything that I could put down to mob

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