Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Good morning,, after wrestling with Best Buy all night and still have to go back today. (new computer crashed).. I have the information now.

I send a big thank you to Ms. Keli (septemnermom) at My Voice, My View http://www.myvoicemyview.blogspot.com/ . She volunteered to be the “Depot Person”. Her email address is on her profile. Add to the beginning story and send your address to Ms. Keli www.septemberkel@yahoo.com and she will forward your WINNIN PRIZE to you. Now that ain’t to complicated is it. Remember if you don’t want to write a “story comment” just say hi and you win.

Just a couple more things: It would be nice if you would stop by and say hello to Septembermom’s Blogsite (My Voice, My View) and read her efforts. It will be your treat. ALSO, she and some friends have a blogsite that needs a visit and PARTICIPATION,,,,, “Write With Pictures” http://www.writewithpictures.blogspot.com/ ,It is a great site to just enjoy and post your reactions to the “Pictures” posted for writing prompts.

Again, Thank you Ms. Keli,, and everyone is invited to come along.. Thanks Glenn

Here we Go..

The Note….

5957 Canal B. The brass address plate dangles askew, missing two of its four anchors. The rain rolls off the canvas awning. An odd crease forms a trough that spits a stream of water two feet beyond the edge of the tattered green covering. Stepping around the splattering geyser, shaking her umbrella, the fashionably dressed lady opened the door and stepped inside.

Twenty years prior, the fishnet had made a nice touch to the d├ęcor, along with the scattered green glass net floats. An over sized fish tank , sitting behind a row of padded leather chairs hummed and bubbled a calypso rhythm. Removing her rain coat the stranger dropped it across the back of the barstool adjacent to the ones he sat in which he sat. It seemed insane that she was even here. The room had an aroma that was definitely of seafood, but did not smell like fish. The stink of stale beer burned her nose.

All she had was a crumpled piece of paper with this address and a name scrawled in pencil. He had handed her the note as he stepped from the subway. No one had seen the assailant. He only took a few steps after getting off the train. He collapsed right in front of her. Her only misfortune was she was waiting to get on the train.

“Please, find Johnnie, tell him….”

He never spoke another word as his hand slid from hers leaving the note and a twenty dollar bill.
Before the police could arrive, she panicked and ran. Now she was here.

“Does anyone know Johnnie Wittenbrook?”

Her question rang throughout the restaurant without warning. The room fell silent. One old bearded seaman pushed his chair back and walked out of the room without speaking. It seemed that even the fish tank had fallen silent.

The quiet was finally broken when…..


  1. …The quiet was finally broken when a man, not much older than her, dropped a coin in the jukebox while glancing in her direction. His brow rose as he folded his arms across worn plaid flannel. His stare did not deviate as the young smoothed her ruined silk skirt. From patron to patron, her eyes darted until they settled on his robust stature. Their eyes met for only a moment, but he inferred it as an invitation. Watching her draw in a jagged breath, he claimed the seat beside her.

    “You know Johnnie?” he asked.

    She searched his blue eyes, weighing his intent.

  2. in walked a scrawny, disheveled boy. He looked to be about 14. It had been too long since his last haircut, and maybe since his last good meal. He looked at me with fear and uncertainty in his eyes, his hands stuck deep into the pockets of his faded, frayed Levis.
    "I'm Johnnie Whittenbrook? What do you want?"

  3. She searched his blue eyes, weighing his intent...

    "No" she replied.
    He raised brows again, unspoken concern for the nature of her business with the unknown. She grew bold, straightened.

    "I have a message for him. If you know where he is, please just tell me" she said.

    Scratching the rough of his chin he looked her deep, the kind of look that reads the text of a mind and heart, right through the eyes. She felt lightheaded with the intrusion but was unable to thwart his gaze with her own release.

    "In due time", he said. "First things first."

    She felt his rough grab her smooth and wondered at the comfortable fit of such incongruous textures. Her heart beat a rhythm that was new to her, attempting to discern fear or excitement, but pleased none the less, at his hand in hers.

    But in the same breath, his blue eyes grew steely and his grip tightened upon her trapped hand...

  4. But in the same breath, his blue eyes grew steely and his grip tightened upon her trapped hand. As she started to pull away, a wrinkled woman perched on a stool behind the bar cackled. Her unkempt grey hair hung from a frayed red bandana, her fingernails were stained and dirty. Taking a long drag that lit up the lengthening ash from her filterless cigarette, she laughed again. In a voice that rasped as a result of years of smoking, she croaked: "Ned, leave that purdy dish alone, she's too good for the likes of you. And lady, as for Johnny Whitenbrook, you find him, I get a crack at him first. That crummy SOB, he..."

  5. That crummy SOB, he could tell a good story and get the girls going." Hoping to hear more from the woman, she started to walk in her direction. As she moved closer, she stammered, "I was wondering if anyone..." Shadows appeared before her eyes. Nothing seemed right. Blackness started to take her over. All of a sudden she felt like she was sinking away. Her hand tried to reach the bar edge, but she fell helplessly along the side of the splintering wood. The old woman cackled again as she garbled, "Looks like Johnnie's mood liquor has another taker." Smirking, Ned bent down and grabbed the girl by the waist and placed her somewhat upright in the front seat of his more rust than paint Chevy. "You want to see Johnnie, honey? Let's see if he's at the church. Bet he has a sermon or two to work on."

  6. "You want to see Johnnie, honey? Let's see if he's at the church. Bet he has a sermon or two to work on."

    * * *

    Before Sammy collapsed on the D.C. metro platform, he saw the lady glance, bewildered, at his note in her hands. She stared at him questioningly as she slowly backed up from the train she had been about to board. She was the only person on the platform who had been too shocked to scream and run when the deafening pop had sounded in the crowded station seconds before. Nerves of steel, that one.

    As he mustered the strength to yell his last words to her over the roar of the panicked crowd, he mentally cursed his dumb luck. A well-mannered Texas farm boy like himself should know better than to have trusted the word of Johnnie's new big-city "friend." He had stepped off the train to meet the friend, the man he knew only by photo as "Jack."

    He was under strict instructions to travel to this particular metro stop, swap the briefcase with "Jack" for the cash, go catch a flight to Houston, drive to Galveston to pick up Johnnie, and head to Mexico. All on the stranger's scout's honor. But "Jack" had slipped through the crowd on the platform before Sam could recognize him, and in an instant, the briefcase was ripped from his hand and "Jack's" .38 Smith and Wesson put a bullet in his chest. To the rest of the crowd, it was as if the pistol had materialized out of thin air - there were far too many people to see who was holding it, and it disappeared as quickly as it came when the screaming bystanders stampeded for the station exit.

    Except for the lady. The lady was his only hope of warning Johnnie to expect trouble.

  7. (ARE you even serious, Glenn? HOly shit, these people can write! I came by last night but was pretty sick and took on a fever and all and realized an hour or so later I hadn't read anything here. Glad I came back. I'm really impressed by the writing here. Unfortunately, I suck at this kind of thing. Have never been able to write on prompt. Got my arse kicked in University because I was all arms crossed when I was asked to. Sorry. But I sure as hell enjoy everyone else!


  8. Except for the lady. The lady was his only hope of warning Johnnie to expect trouble.

    Her eyes started to focus. Her head hammered with every pulse of blood pumping from her racing heart. She was groggy but able to figure out that she was in the sanctuary of a small church. Her limbs weren't responding to her attempts to move.

    "You wanted to meet Johnnie Wittenbrook, lady? Well here he is." A deep cynical laugh echoed menacingly through the empty building. Ned stood over her pointing triumphantly at a still shape in the far dark corner. She couldn't make it out. Except that it seemed to be someone sitting in a high back parson's chair.

    Her head started to clear. Ned prodded her with his foot. Taunting her sadistically. "Why don't you go see him? He's waiting for you?"

    "Did these people really think I would come here alone?" she thought. "Surely, I was followed here. They promised to keep me in their sight."

    These thoughts raced through her mind. And, then a loud crash, or was it a bang, reverberated.