bernardl

New Release

2009-02-06T16:38:13Z

My new erotic paranormal adventure LANCELOT under my penname Lee Whitney can be found here:

http://www.carnaldesirespublishing.com/single.php?ISBN=1-55404-640-8

The Fight

2009-01-29T16:48:14Z

A woman is standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror.

She is not happy with what she sees and says to her husband, 'I feel

horrible; I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a

compliment.'

The husband replies, 'Your eyesight's damn near perfect.'

And that's how the fight started..... :)

New WIP

2009-01-16T19:12:12Z

I neared the 45,000 word plateau today on my new manuscript. I've joined Twitter and Facebook this week. The weather out here in Northern California has been nearly like summer. It almost makes me feel guilty when I read about the weather back in the state I moved here from after the service: Ohio. They're really having a rough patch, along with the rest of the Midwest.

Writing Progress

2009-01-03T16:01:34Z

At the end of 2008 I signed contracts for two of my new novels, both with E-book publishers: one with Double Dragon's Carnal Desires for my erotic paranormal LANCELOT, and one with Wild Child Publishing for my adventure novel COLD BLOODED. Although I'll be lucky if either is for sale before the end of 2009, I hope to use the publishing credits to finally get an agent. I'm sorry for not having posted in a while, but at least I have some good news for the new year. :)

Complaint Department

2008-02-22T00:03:03Z

Layla serves the public in #10. :)

“I want a guarantee!” The woman in her thirties with bleached blonde hair yelled at Layla.

“The Delco rebuilt alternator is guaranteed for one year or 12,000 miles, Ms. Mancuso ,” Layla repeated, holding onto the smile quivering in protest.

“Why so short a time?”

“It’s actually three times what most places give. The standard is four months or 4,000 miles,” Layla explained, still holding the estimate for the woman to sign.

“Super Duper Auto Parts guarantees their alternators for life and they’re cheaper to buy. I’ll buy one of theirs and have you people put it on.”

“Uh… no, you won’t,” Layla told the lady. “As I’ve already explained, we don’t install and guarantee other peoples’ parts.”

Layla’s gaze shifted to Ms. Mancuso’s huge boyfriend. He looks like one of those World Wrestling guys, Layla thought. The man, Layla had heard Mancuso call Attila stood next to Mancuso, his arms folded over his chest, leaning slightly forward. Layla noted Attila sported one of those bushy pork-chop mustaches. She met his hard line stare without blinking, waiting for Mancuso’s next move. Layla could tell Attila was a big fan of that guy on TV who creates custom motorcycles with his two sons, only this guy was larger.

“I think you should put my friend’s alternator on for her,” Attila commented, his voice reminded Layla of Cole’s voice when he changed into a Werewolf.

“I’d be happy to, but it will be a Delco rebuilt alternator, with the warranty I’ve already explained,” Layla grinned up at Attila, seeing he was staring more at the front of her blouse rather than her face.

“You should show some respect,” Attila informed Layla, bending over to poke the sausage he had for a right index finger in her face.

“You two are really good at this,” Layla chuckled. “How often does this tag team stuff manage to bully a shop into doing your bidding? If you want it done here, the price and the warranty will be what I told you. You can take the car anywhere you like after you pay the diagnostic fee on the estimate.”

“What?!” Ms. Mancuso screamed out. “I’m not paying you anything! Back my Buick out and we’ll go somewhere they’ll appreciate our business.”

“Let’s see…” Layla paused as if considering the demand, “no.”

“We’re not paying any diagnostic fee,” Attila informed her, leaning toward Layla threateningly.

“Then I’m not releasing the car,” Layla informed him sweetly. “If you don’t back out of my face, Attila, I see a plastic ball in your future.”

“Huh?” Attila muttered. “Just back the car out…”

The office door opened and a worried Cole walked in, looking questioningly at Layla, having heard the raised voices. Stan had sent Cole in, having seen the size of the guy with Mancuso.

“Hi, Layla, any problems?” Cole asked.

“They don’t like the warranty, the price, or the diagnostic fee they’ve already signed for and received,” Layla ticked off the points on her fingers, “and they want you to simply give them back the Buick at no charge. Did I leave anything out, folks?”

“No, that sums it up,” Attila turned, and walked menacingly up to Cole. Ms. Mancuso followed along, excitement taking over for anger on her face. “Go get our car, kid.”

“Pay the diagnostic fee you okayed, and I’ll be happy to,” Cole reasoned, looking up into Attila’s glowering face with a bored expression. “Call your friend off, Ms. Mancuso, or Layla will call the police.”

“By the time they get here, kid, you’ll need facial reconstruction,” Attila warned Cole, poking his sausage finger into Cole’s chest.

Cole turned his attention over to Layla. “Sorry I interrupted, Layla. I guess you were going to introduce these folks to our complaint department manager, huh?”

“Oh yea!” Layla clapped her hands, cleared her throat, and motioned to the couple happily. “Hello, folks, I’m Layla, the complaint department manager.”

“What the hell is this?” Ms. Mancuso turned again with Attila. When Attila returned his attention to Cole, the office door was closing, and Cole was gone.

Outside the office, Stan, and Cole’s fellow workers, were heading toward the office. Cole stopped them.

“Layla has it handled. Those two are a tough sell, but I think Layla will have them convinced on the estimate shortly.”

“Are you sure, Cole?” Stan asked. “That damn guy’s a monster.”

“If there’s a monster in the office, it ain’t the big guy,” Cole grinned, looking back toward the office.

“What’s that weird rolling sound I hear in there?” Stan asked, listening to what sounded like balls rolling around in the office, striking the desk and walls.

“Take my word for it, Stan,” Jill, the newest tech said knowingly, “you don’t want to know. Layla will handle it.”

“She’s good,” Bob put in, walking beside Jill. “We don’t even get complaints when Danny here screws up the customer’s vehicle.”

“I don’t…” Danny began protesting as he fell in behind the group. He shut up when he heard them all sharing a laugh at his expense.

A few minutes later, Mancuso and her boyfriend fled the office as if chased by demons. Layla stuck her head through the office door waving the signed estimate.

“The Buick’s a go!” Layla called out.

Layla's Little Joke

2008-02-20T21:31:31Z

Layla returns for her ninth appearance. :)

“Open… the door… dear,” Cole growled, emphasizing his words with a light rake of claws over the bedroom door, which had been reformed into steel.

“It was a joke, baby,” Layla pleaded.

“Yea… very funny… now open the door.”

“Not until you change and give me your word there won’t be any retribution. You can change at will. What’s the big deal? So you thought the werewolf bit was forever… boo hoo… get over it.”

No answer from Cole’s side of the door, only the rhythmic rake of claws, and the low uneven hum of a growl.

“C’mon, it was funny. What a performance,” Layla reasoned. “You have to admit, I really had you going. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“It went bye-bye three weeks ago, about the time you decided to carry the joke as a running gag forever! If I hadn’t spotted you changing clothes by thought, you’d have still been playing the poor powerless Layla.”

Layla giggled, which evoked an angry growl from Cole.

“Those guys you gave the attitude adjustment to by the lake really had a great time with the police and the press,” Layla changed the subject as the frame around the door began to swell inward. She immediately made the walls around the door into steel. “It was all over the newspaper about werewolf attacks at Lake Merritt. When some people saw the thugs’ pictures in the paper, they recognized them as the ones who had mugged them.”

“Goody,” Cole snarled through the door. “Open the door.”

“Cole, there’s something else. I…I didn’t really change clothes so you could see by accident. Someone was stalking me when I went to Bayfair Mall yesterday.”

“Oh no… I’m sooooooo… concerned,” Cole replied. “Open the door and tell me all about it.”

Layla shivered. Just the low gravelly tone of Cole’s voice made visions of his fangs sliding lightly over her skin pop into her head uninvited.

“I’m serious, Cole. I caught a glimpse of who it was. You remember I told you I may have conjured a witch or two somewhere along the line?”

An almost imperceptible howl came to Layla’s sensitive ears, and she clamped a hand over her mouth as the familiar strains of a song reached her in perfect werewolf pitch.

“Hey there little Red Riding Hood, do ya’ think little big girls should…”

“Cole… quit foolin’ around! I’m serious.”

“Go down… walkin’ in the spooky old woods alone, oooooowwwwwwrrrrrrrhhhh…”

“It was a witch I made in Salem at the turn of the century. She was a wannabe until she acquired the lamp.”

“Rrrrrooohhhh?” Cole questioned, sounding more like Scooby Doo than a werewolf.

“I tried… you know… to change her back at the mall. It didn’t work.”

“If she wanted to be a witch, and you granted her wish, why… okay, what did you do?” Cole asked, envisioning enumerable bad things.

“She wished for a long healthy life.”

“And…”

“She wished for a hundred pounds of gold, and pointed out the exact area she wanted it in… good choice.”

“And…” Cole pursued this line of questioning reluctantly, the thoughts of revenge fading like an oft desired lover.

“She wished to be a witch,” Layla finished.

“Layla… I’m not a dentist looking for cavities. Don’t make this like pulling teeth. What the hell did you do to her?”

“I made her into a traditional witch.”

“Oh shit! You mean with…”

“Yea,” Layla interrupted, “the moles, the bumps, the bulbous nose, the cackle in her voice every few words, the jutting chin, the…”

“I’m going to help her get you,” Cole cut her off angrily.

“Cole!?” Layla exclaimed. “How can you say such a thing. I’m a Djinn. What… you think I would have made her into one of those prissy assed witches from Cinderella or maybe you thought I’d turn her into Samantha from ‘Bewitched’. I don’t think so.”

“I’m putting a sign up: come and get her,” Cole retorted.

“I love you,” Layla whispered.

“Don’t…”

“You know how much your needle point teeth excite me, baby,” Layla replied huskily. “Oh… you know what I like, Cole. You could…”

An angry howl, pervasive enough to set off car alarms outside the apartment complex ended Layla’s effusive dialogue. Layla gasped as the air in front of her shimmered.

“Uh oh,” Layla muttered. “Hi… Jenny.”

“Layla, my old friend,” Jenny said, and then cackled unintentionally. “I got your message, dear.”

“I…I didn’t send a message.”

“You… still… exist,” Jenny retorted, “and I knew where you were. I’d call that a message. I guess you were a little surprised when you tried to zap me at the mall, weren’t you, you little bitch!”

“I tried to change you back to the way were,” Layla protested, as Cole listened intently on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Yea, I’ll bet you did,” Jenny cackled uncontrollably. “Let’s see what we can do with you today. Are there any requests you’d like to make, I can warp into nightmares for you?”

“Cole, honey?”

“Cole? Why… it’s just me, the Amazing Dog Boy,” Cole replied. “Oh… I’m sorry, did you want to open the door now?”

“Very much so,” Layla admitted, turning the walls and doors back into the original structural material and opening the door.

Cole leaped through without hesitation, bearing Jenny to the floor, her screams reverberating around in his head enticingly. With one clawed paw forcing Jenny’s neck upward, and the other poised with claws drawing blood at her throat, Cole spoke inches from Jenny’s panting mouth.

“Ask to be changed back, Jenny. Ask… right… nowwwwwwwww…!” Cole’s voice tailed into a howl as he finished the sentence.

“Layla! I…I wish to be changed back… pleassssssseeeeee…” Jenny begged, Cole’s saliva stinging like acid where it drooled downward onto her skin.

“Done,” Layla said with a sigh of relief.

Beneath Cole, instead of some misbegotten troll of a woman lay a rather attractive young lady with dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. Cole leapt up off her, changing into his human form, his expandable clothes molding to form. Cole helped Jenny up and took her to face a bedroom mirror.

“See, Jenny, you’re all better.”

Jenny touched her face hesitantly, watching the mirror reflection, joy radiating from her face.

“Oh my God, it…it’s been so long,” Jenny whispered. She turned to Cole, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, while an angry Layla stared at the scene in disbelief.

Cole forced Jenny back at arms’ length. “Easy… Jenny, I know it’s a shock. Are you still well off?”

“Yes,” Jenny responded, her lips tingling, and a long repressed need sweeping through her. “You…you’re the first man I’ve kissed in over a hundred years.”

Suddenly Layla stood in the middle of the two, the look she gave Jenny menacing enough to make the woman stumble backward in fear.

“Best to be on your way, Willow,” Layla warned, her voice and tone like a Minnesota winter.

“Sure…sure, Layla, I’m going,” Jenny streaked around Layla and Cole, making for the door without a backward glance.

“Wait,” Layla whispered, raising a hand, “you forgot your lovely parting gift…”

A growl behind her erased all thought of mischief, and Layla spun around to face Cole the Werewolf.

Layla's Outing

2008-02-17T00:18:09Z

Layla goes on her eighth excursion.

“Like my outfit?” Layla asked, turning slowly around as she and Cole walked along the Lake Merritt jogging path.

“Oh yeah,” Cole answered, looking Layla over carefully in the fading light of dusk. “You are definitely the Mistress of Menace.”

Layla wore skintight black leather pants, black high heels, and a black silk halter top. With her long black hair tied back in a ponytail, Layla looked very familiar to Cole.

“Your outfit looks familiar. Where did…”

“From the movie, Grease,” Layla cut in, “only I look a lot better than Olivia Newton-John.”

“No argument from me, but I don’t think she wore a sheer black halter top in the movie,” Cole pointed out. “Nice touch.”

“She was a blonde too, so what?”

“Nothing,” Cole replied quickly, “I love your hair. Are you sure these black jeans and t-shirt will expand when I change?”

“Of course, but you’ll have to kick off your tennis shoes. Now where do you want to set up for our stakeout on this venture?”

“I figured we’d keep walking after dark, and see what turns up. It’s beautiful out.”

Layla nodded in agreement, scanning out over the lake, shimmering at sunset. “How long do you want to do this?”

“A few hours,” Cole answered. “We can sit near the lake when we get tired of walking.”

“Is there any place we can fool around to pass the time?”

“It’s pretty well lighted, but we might find a tree to duck behind,” Cole watched Layla’s profile avidly, his imagination kicking in.

Layla glanced over at Cole, pointing at the front of his jeans, and laughing. “Good thing it’s almost dark. Maybe we should head back to the car. We can have our own performance of Grease at the apartment.”

Cole stopped, noting there was no one in sight along the jogging path. He pulled Layla close, bending down to brush her lips with his.

“Maybe we’ll cut it short at an hour. I’m losing my enthusiasm for crime fighting, seeing you in costume,” Cole admitted, his hands running lightly up Layla’s back.

“Hey, looky here,” a voice from the side of the couple called out.

Cole and Layla separated, turning toward the voice. Six figures came out of the semi-darkness, striding toward them in a semicircle, striding as much as pants pulled down below hip level allowed. They all wore black hooded windbreakers, with the hoods up.

“They look like movie stars,” the tall one in front commented.

“Brangelina… they look like that one name couple,” a young man next to him added, evoking laughter from the rest.

“Out strollin’ around the lake, huh folks,” the tall one continued, brushing up against Layla. “What’s yo’ name, baby girl?”

“I’m the Mistress of Menace,” Layla smiled, gesturing at Cole, “and this is my partner, the Amazing Dog Boy.”

Everyone laughed, except Cole, who glared at Layla.

“You alright, Ms. Menace,” the tall one stroked Layla’s shoulder, as his companions crowded closer around Cole. “You and dog boy give us some money… maybe we let you keep walkin’.”

“Let me handle this, ADB,” Layla told Cole without looking away from the young man still touching her shoulder. “Did you guys ever have a gerbil for a pet?”

“A what?!”

“You know… those cute little furry things that roll around in plastic balls.”

“These guys aren’t fooling around, Layla,” Cole said, seeing the faces around him taking on a much grimmer aspect.

“You got that right, dog boy!”

“I thought we were supposed to have a good time with this,” Layla looked at Cole questioningly, “you know, bantering bravely like superheroes with the bad guys.”

“Superheroes?!” The leader repeated. “You two ain’t super-shit, now show me the money.”

Layla made an all too familiar gesture with her hands, and Cole braced himself to see six gerbils rolling around in plastic balls. She repeated it several times, and then looked at Cole, panic on her face.

“Nothing happened… nothing! My powers… they’re gone.”

“C’mon baby, we’ll go talk about it,” the leader grabbed Layla’s arm and put the blade of a knife to her throat. “Bring dog boy.”

“Cole!” Layla gurgled out in fright, the knife blade causing her to squeeze the word out.

“Nobody out here but dog boy,” Cole replied, as the other five men grabbed him.

“Is it… is it too late to say I’m sorry, Werewolf?”

“Werewolf, what Werewolf?” The leader laughed, dragging on Layla’s arm.

“That…” a growingly guttural voice growled behind him, “would… be… me…”

Screams sounded behind him, just prior to bodies launching past. Claws raked over the man’s knife hand, nearly severing his fingers. The young men ran like penguins from a polar bear in their cool pants. Cole the Werewolf brought them down one by one, smashing them into the ground, and ripping one set of claws over their backs, leaving deep enough scars to last a lifetime. Cole hurried back to where Layla sat with her legs splayed out, hugging herself and sobbing. Cole picked Layla and his tennis shoes up and ran, changing back as he moved away from the scene. By the time they reached Cole’s Dodge, there were sirens approaching.

“Wow, we barely made it away before the cops arrived,” Cole said, helping Layla into the passenger seat and closing her door.

Cole ran around to the driver’s side. He opened the door, threw his tennis shoes into the back, and slid in behind the wheel. Seconds later, Cole drove away, and headed for home. He reached over and took Layla’s hand.

“Oh, Cole…” Layla cried, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I…I’m powerless.”

“So,” Cole shrugged, “no mansions, and no trips to Paris. We’ll be fine.”

“I also can’t… you know… change you back to normal. Cole… Cole… honey…”

Two Wheels

2008-02-15T21:49:41Z

“Yo!”

Having heard the motion detector, I was already walking toward this guy on a bike, but he continued yelling out ‘Yo’ until I spoke from five feet away. It was then I noticed the ‘Yo’s’ had filled the air in front of him with hundred proof spirits. Miraculously, the bike rider still sat his bike in an upright position.

“I hear you, Sir. How can I help you?” Since I hadn’t turned on the air compressor yet, I was hoping he needed air. He wouldn’t be getting any, because I don’t start up the massive compressor to give out freebie air.

He spoke for a couple minutes, gesturing at his bike, but it might as well have been Russian or Latin. I didn’t understand a word of it.

“I didn’t understand a word you said, Sir,” I informed him, because the truth is always the best path. “Slow your speech down, and speak clearly.”

The bike rider launched again, turning the volume up, but not slowing down or enunciating.

“I’m not deaf,” I cut him off. “Slow down, and speak clearly.”

Two Wheels stares at me with the look of disgust only a guy who has chugged down a pint of something powerful and cheap at ten in the morning can. “My… handlebars. I need you to loosen the bolt so I can change positions.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” I give him a parting shot as I go over and get the socket wrench, socket, and extension for doing his bidding.

I loosen the bolt. He sits without moving the handlebars he’s still gripping. I can tell in his eyes, Two Wheels’ morning pick-me-up is really kicking in.

“You wanted to change the handlebar position,” I remind Two Wheels.

“Huh?” Two Wheels slowly focuses.

“The handlebars,” I repeat. “Put them in the position you like and I’ll tighten the bolt up again.”

“What’s wrong… with my handlebars?”

I start laughing, and he does too. I show him he can move the handlebars up or down now, and Two Wheels gets the picture finally. He moves them all over, studiously testing different feels, and then returns them to the original position.

“Yea, man, right there,” Two Wheels says, a satisfied look on his face as he’s holding the handle bar grips. “Tighten it up.”

I tighten the bolt. I’m happy if Two Wheels is happy.

“Thanks, can you loan me a dollar?”

“No.”

Two Wheels nods and turns the bike around with some difficulty. He misses the edge of my big door frame on his way to the sidewalk by a hair of the dog he’d had earlier. I turned to put my tools away, resisting the temptation to watch him navigate the street.

Where’s Layla when I need her? :)

A Wave In Antarctica

2008-02-14T22:55:56Z

This picture is in a series of shots taken in Antarctica, where the water breaks through and immediately freezes. Breathtaking. Oh yeah, and Layla and Cole #7. :)

“How come you don’t wish us rich and living in a mansion?” Layla asked, leaning provocatively over the Toyota Corolla fender as Cole worked through his lunch hour to get the customer’s front disc brake job done.

Cole straightened from where he had been using a vacuum tank to suck brake fluid from the Toyota’s master cylinder reservoir. His irritated growl evoked an appreciative laugh from Layla.

“I told you, we’ll do something special when our vacation comes up. Stan always closes the shop so everyone goes on vacation at the same time.”

“You ducked the question again.”

“It’s not me, Layla. If you want to live in a mansion, go live in a mansion. I’ll come visit you. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds like I’d get replaced by that cheap tart, Jill the moment I left,” Layla retorted. “I saw her getting chummy with you this morning. Perhaps a few hours rolling around in her ball would…”

“We were doing a wire trace, you…” Cole shut up, and went back to work as Layla started laughing again.

“I so got you, Wolfy,” Layla pointed the forefinger and middle fingers of her right hand at her eyes and then at Cole repeatedly. “Jill and I are getting along pretty well, but I’m watching you.”

“I’ll make a note.”

“Hey, for vacation, why don’t we play American Werewolf in Paris.”

It was Cole’s turn to laugh. He finished vacuum flushing the system, and put the wheels back on the Toyota. After making sure everything was clean, Cole let the Toyota down off the lift, and backed it out. Returning from test driving the Toyota, he joined Layla in the office where she finished the billing. Cole sat down at her desk with a cup of coffee.

“I have an idea. Why don’t we go out at night like superheroes, and get some bad guys,” Cole suggested. “We could be crime-fighters. You’d be entertained, and I’d work out some aggression. Can I wish to be a werewolf whenever I want instead of only during nights with a full moon?”

“You’re joking, right? Having you jump out and scare the crap out of me, along with the apartment smelling like wet dog once a month is plenty.”

“You won’t let me experiment with being Dracula, so…”

“Turn that record over, will ya’? Okay, so if I let you be a werewolf, and we go out like Batman and Robin, what do I get to be?” Layla asked, cutting off Cole’s vampire spiel.

“I don’t know. What can you change into?”

“The only thing I can change on me is my clothes.”

“You could change your abrasive attitude,” Cole suggested.

“Oh… you are so lucky,” Layla shook her head as if mourning a loss. “If you weren’t immune to my magic, you’d be Cole the gerbil so fast your little furry head would spin right off.”

“How about Super-Jinn?” Cole asked, changing the conversational direction. Cole remembered he was verbally baiting a creature powerful enough change reality. “Or you could be Magical Mamma.”

“Those… those are so lame,” Layla laughed. “I’ll be the Mistress of Menace.”

“Not bad,” Cole agreed.

“You can be Amazing Dog-Boy and my costume will be one of those t-shirts that say ‘I’m with stupid’. I’ll make it with a revolving arrow which always points at you.”

“You’re not taking my suggestion for adventure very seriously,” Cole remarked, as Layla immediately created the t-shirt with fluorescent animated arrow, turning to demonstrate its versatility. “I’ll wish for clothing capable of changing with my form.”

“Why don’t I just take you on a leash? I’ll bring along a rolled up newspaper, and I can train you while we’re waiting for a crime to happen.”

Cole stood up. “Maybe I’ll go see if Jill’s back from lunch.”

“Sit down, you still have fifteen minutes left,” Layla ordered. “We’ll try out your adventure tonight; but don’t blame me when I end up in jail, and you end up in the dog pound.”

Layla's Quandary

2008-02-12T17:08:54Z

Here's a little closure, and expansion of premise: Layla and Cole six. :)

“You bit me last night!” Layla complained, stroking Cole’s forehead with her left hand as she lay next to him in their bed.

“It was just a little… love bite,” Cole smiled over at her.

“There’s no such thing as a love bite when you’re a werewolf.”

“I barely broke the skin. It’s not like I can change you into a werewolf. You had it coming, and I was in the moment,” Cole explained in a pseudo authoritarian voice. “You were kind of cute running down the hallway, screaming your head off.”

“You… you pounced on me!” Layla smacked Cole’s arm, sitting up, and looking around their bedroom. “Look at my clothes. They’re shredded.”

Cole scooted smoothly to a sitting position, surveying the damage. Various pieces of Layla’s clothing lay strewn around the room. He remembered overtaking Layla as she crossed the bedroom threshold, knocking her face first onto the floor. Cole had then carefully and deliberately ripped her clothing into strips as Layla yelped beneath him. It had been the most exhilarating moment he’d ever experienced.

“Ask me to change you back,” Layla pleaded, shifting up and behind Cole, where she began massaging his shoulders.

“I don’t think so,” Cole replied. “This werewolf gig interests me, except the part where my clothes burst apart. Did you remember to…”

“I brought what was left of your clothing with us,” Layla broke in. “I’ve seen CSI. We’re safe from the cops. I sent Natasha’s body somewhere it won’t be found either. Now, wish for me to make you normal again.”

“No, what if we get attacked again. Next time it’ll probably be a zombie or something,” Cole argued. “I need to practice for monster confrontations. If Natasha hadn’t been so confident, she would have nailed us both.”

Layla’s hands had suddenly stopped moving, and Cole swiveled around to face her.

“What’s wrong… hey… come on… you didn’t make any zombies, did you?”

“No,” Layla shook her head as Cole put his arms around her waist. “I did make some sensational creations, such as witches, warlocks, and a few other kinds of shape-shifters. I’m not sure where they all are today.”

“See, you need me as a werewolf. Maybe I could try being a vampire. It would be easier on my clothes,” Cole reasoned, moving his lips to Layla’s left shoulder. He willed his fangs into prominence, and slid them lightly along her skin.

“Oh… Cole…” Layla shivered.

“You said Fred the Fang’s bite was kind of kinky,” Cole reminded her, nipping the skin a little, eliciting a moan from Layla. “I can go way beyond kinky.”

“Hummmmm… I don’t know… you’re too willing.”

Cole bit down gently, and Layla gasped, pulling him closer.

“Well… maybe… I’ll think about it.”

Layla Eats Out

2008-02-11T17:21:29Z

Layla and Cole's fifth installment. :)

“Ah… Layla… I’ve been meaning to ask you something since Fred the Fang visited us unexpectedly,” Cole said, taking a sip of his wine as he sat across the table from Layla at a local Black Angus restaurant.

“Don’t worry, I’ve blocked my presence, Cole,” Layla smiled, guessing where Cole was going with his question. “No more surprise visitors. That was a beautiful walk together over here. I’m glad you talked me into it.”

“I was wondering how many vampires are out there if you’ve been around for thousands of years,” Cole carefully continued.

“Well, immortality is one of the most popular wishes. The majority of them went nuts right from the start, and began feeding on anyone. They were burned, staked, or dismembered soon after getting their wish. Many immediately undid the wish if they had any wishes left, if they were smart. I can’t say I’ve ever followed up on them or anything though, why?”

“Was every wish a trick?” Cole persisted, glancing past Layla every few seconds

“No,” Layla replied honestly, sipping her own wine. “It only takes one screw up though. Do we have to talk about wishes? What are you looking at?”

“A woman wearing black, with auburn hair, is staring at the back of your head, from the booth behind us and across the isle,” Cole whispered, leaning toward Layla. “She looks extremely angry.”

Layla grinned at Cole, thinking maybe tonight we’ll have a little excitement. She turned as if looking for the waiter, and froze. Cole saw the woman behind them smile for the first time and nod at Layla. When Layla didn’t turn back, Cole put his hand on her left hand where it gripped the edge of the table so tightly the wood creaked in complaint.

“Layla…” Cole called out, still in a hushed voice. “Layla!”

Layla turned around in the seat, a stricken look on her face sending shivers through Cole. He gripped her hand with both his.

“Who is she, and how in hell can she be freakin’ you out?” Cole asked, now avoiding the woman’s look completely.

“Holy Rocky and Bullwinkle, it’s Natasha,” Layla muttered, draining her wine glass before continuing. “She owned the lamp once… a century ago.”

“Spit it out! What did you do to her? It can’t be that bad if you’re making cartoon squirrel jokes,” Cole let out the breath he had been holding slowly.

“I granted her three wishes,” Layla answered, meeting Cole’s eyes uneasily. “She thought she was so smart, the arrogant bitch. Natasha wished to be immune to my magic after her wishes were over. One down, I thought, and granted it. She then wished carefully for two million dollars real cash money, which was pretty smart. Some people wish for all the money, or gold, in the world; and I shield them from being crushed to death for a moment, while they use another wish taking their wish back. At times I…”

“Layla! You’re killing me here,” Cole cut her off. “What did she wish for then?”

“A strange one,” Layla’s eyes sparkled, as she remembered the time. “Natasha wanted use of all her senses to their maximum capabilities.”

“And…” Cole prompted her impatiently, “…what then?”

“I turned her into a werewolf,” Layla shrugged.

“Oh shit… that means… she’s been waiting for a full moon?”

“Yea, Einstein, she’s been waiting for a full moon,” Layla retorted, pulling her hands free. She twirled one finger around lightly. “There, she can’t hear us. Now, I have to figure a way to keep the Big Bad Wolf from ripping us apart.”

“What you mean we, Ke-mo sah-be?”

“Ha… ha,” Layla grimaced at Cole’s use of an old joke involving the characters Lone Ranger and Tonto. “She’ll eviscerate you first, my little sidekick. If I… hey… wait a minute!”

“I don’t like that look, Layla. It’s the same one I saw when Jill the gerbil rolled around your desk in the little plastic ball. What…”

“I’ll make you into a werewolf,” Layla announced. “She’ll never see that coming.”

“That makes two of us. Layla… I don’t want to be a werewolf.”

“Oh, cowboy up, Cole,” Layla replied, exasperation creeping into her voice as she began to comically hum a familiar tune. She started singing quietly. “I need a hero… I’m holding out for a hero ‘till the end of the night. He’s gotta be strong, and…”

“I don’t want to be a werewolf!” Cole cut her off.

“Would you rather be a very rare hamburger, wrench-boy? I’ll change you back afterwards. I promise.”

“Fine! Do it. Hurry up before I change my mind.”

“I can’t do any magic on you or for you unless you wish it. You know you’re immune.”

“Oh, Layla, please…please… please… I wish to be a werewolf,” Cole said sarcastically.

“Done,” Layla said happily. “C’mon, Wolfy, let’s go home.”

“I just had to talk you into a walk in the fresh air,” Cole complained, feeling the onrush of sensory overload as he put a small wad of cash in the folded bill container the waitress had brought them after their meal. “The moon’s up. Why haven’t I changed already?”

“You have control over it, dummy,” Layla answered. “Will it, and it’ll happen.”

“What happens when Natasha and I have a werewolf fight out there in suburbia?”

“Take care of business, and then I’ll transport us to your apartment.”

“It sounds so easy when you put it like that,” Cole gripped Layla’s arm tightly as they left the restaurant. “Maybe I’ll kill her and then eat you.”

“Now you’re talkin’ cowboy,” Layla laughed.

Natasha overtook the pair as they entered a tree lined street near the restaurant. Suddenly, the woman simply blocked their way as if she materialized out of thin air, but Cole had sensed her. Cole immediately tried to bargain, as Layla gave Natasha a little wave.

“Listen to me. Layla’s free. She can change you back,” Cole urged. “There’s no…”

“Shut up, boy!” Natasha’s face changed like an old horror movie, her voice dropping octaves into a growling rasp of sound. “I’ve dreamed of slicing your face off after feeding on you alive, Layla. The first night I killed my family, you bitch!”

“You didn’t have to kill them, idiot,” Layla snapped, backing up. “Your home was in the country. Why didn’t you show some control and chase down an animal, moron?”

“I’m in control now…” Natasha changed.

“Holy shit,” Cole gasped in shock, with Layla pulling frantically on his jacket from the back.

“A little help here… Cole…” Layla pleaded, backpedaling away from the nightmarish thing of legend. “Cole? Cole… baby…”

Natasha’s leap brought Layla down with the slavering werewolf atop her. Cole willed the change and nothing happened. He grabbed Natasha around the throat, yelping as she bucked him around till Cole lost his grip and went flying, landing heavily on his back. Natasha pounced on him immediately. One terrified look up into her eyes, and Cole changed, his clothes ripping away as Natasha’s had a moment before. Cole ripped the surprised Natasha’s throat out, bearing her backward, tearing until Natasha no longer moved.

“Good doggy… good doggy…” Layla petted Cole the werewolf as she transported them to Cole’s apartment. “See, that wasn’t so bad. Cole… Cole!”

Cole the werewolf chased a screaming Layla down the hallway.

Layla Interview

2008-02-07T18:09:54Z

The fourth installment in Layla, my Magic Genie Blog. :)

“Hello,” Layla greeted the young woman, dressed in black slacks and white blouse politely, “how may I help you today?”

“Hi, Layla,” the woman smiled, reading Layla’s name tag. “Is Cole around?”

“He’s hard at work,” Layla kept smiling, but she took a closer look at the woman in front of her. She’s stunning, the Jinn thought. Long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, great figure, voice like melt in your mouth chocolate, and a couple inches taller than me. Damn! “I’m the official service greeter here. If you need an appointment or…”

“Cole interviewed me for a job here, and…”

“I’m afraid the owner, Mr. Gibson, hired me as the new receptionist,” Layla broke in, the smile frozen on her face like a glued on Halloween mask.

“No… I applied for the diagnostic tech job. You can check with Cole. My name is Jill Connors.”

Crap! Layla’s mind went spinning into scenarios of Jill and Cole working under the dash, and under the car, and under… damn!

“Why don’t we go in the office,” Layla gestured for Jill to follow her. “Mr. Gibson phoned off sick today; but I’ll give him a call, and see what he says.”

“Cole already made an offer. I told him I’d consider it and get back to him,” Jill explained further as she took a seat in front of the desk Layla sat behind. “I’ve decided I’d like to work at ABC.”

Yea, I’ll bet, Layla thought. This is business, you dolt! Layla sighed, and reached for the phone. She reached Stan Gibson right away, and he explained where the offer package Cole had made was located.

“Have her sign the yellowed spaces, and give Ms. Connors the copies. She can start next Monday. Why didn’t you ask, Cole?” Stan inquired, his voice raspy from the start of a cold.

“They’re really busy in the back, Stan,” Layla answered truthfully, thinking great, I have three days before wonder woman starts work. “Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s okay, Layla, see you tomorrow… I hope.” Stan hung up.

Layla walked back to the filing cabinets, and found the folder with Jill Connors on the tab. She showed Jill where to sign, and then gave her copies of the forms.

“Stan says you can start Monday,” Layla told her.

“Great! I’m really excited,” Jill said, standing up with her papers in hand. She extended her right hand to Layla. “It’s really nice meeting you.”

“Welcome to ABC, Jill,” Layla shook her hand. She’s not so bad.

Jill turned to walk out, but then faced Layla once again. “Layla, do you know if Cole is married?”

“Hey, Cole.”

Cole sighed loudly from under the Ford F150 he was doing a clutch job on.

“I heard that,” his co-worker chuckled knowingly.

“Sorry, Bob,” Cole apologized, leaving the transmission in place on the guide pins, and sliding out from under the truck. Bob was the senior mechanic at ABC.

“The 150’s still kickin’ your butt, huh?”

“I’ll live, what’s up?” Cole asked, looking around. “Where’s Danny?”

“Went on a smoke break,” Bob answered. “Say, you remember that woman you interviewed for a tech job?”

“Yea, the junior college grad with computer flashing and diagnostic know how,” Cole said with some interest. “She scored at the head of her grad class, and they gave her plenty of real world experience over there. Did she call?”

“Actually, she went in the office with Layla about forty minutes ago, and…”

Cole sprung to his feet as if he were on a catapult, tearing off the plastic gloves on his hands, and heading for the office.

“What’s wrong, Cole?” Bob called out jokingly, knowing how things had changed between Layla and Cole lately. He went back to work with a smile.

Cole hurried through the office door looking around, terror plain on his face. Layla sat at her desk, working on the computer. There was no sign of the woman he had interviewed. Layla looked up with a smile.

“Hi, baby, lookin’ to get lucky for lunch?”

“Where’s the woman Bob saw come in here?” Cole asked, his heart in his throat.

“What woman?” Layla asked innocently.

Cole heard it then: the sound of something rolling on the tiled floor. Around the corner of Layla’s desk rolled a round, clear plastic ball with air holes. Inside the ball, a blonde colored gerbil pawed the inside surface frantically, propelling the ball.

“Oh… my… God…” Cole whispered, picking the ball up in shaking hands.

“I needed some company in the office,” Layla explained.

“This is wrong on so many levels, Layla,” Cole sat down heavily in the chair Jill had sat in, trying to calm down as he looked through the plastic. “Remember our talk about right and wrong?”

“Yea, what’s your point?” Layla asked, returning her attention to the computer screen.

“Ms. Connors is a newly graduated diagnostic tech. We need her working here,” Cole said, deciding an appeal to Layla’s sense of right and wrong might end up in Jill’s new position as office pet becoming permanent. “She’ll be a great addition since Stan’s been taking more and more time off.”

“Jill asked me if you were married,” Layla faced Cole across the desk. “I’m not comfortable with her in the back with you all day.”

“Remember our talk about trust? I trust you,” Cole reasoned.

“You say ‘I trust you’, but I hear ‘I don’t care’,” Layla countered.

Uh oh, Cole thought, looking into the two little gerbil eyes inside the ball.

“Okay,” Layla sighed, standing. “Get up, and put the ball in the chair. Jill will be there, papers in hand. We act like nothing happened, and you welcome her to the crew.”

“Thanks, Layla,” Cole said, leaning across the desk and kissing Layla. He placed the ball on the seat, and a moment later Jill sat in its place, holding her employment papers.

“Hi, Jill,” Cole said quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll intro you to Bob and Danny. I’m sure glad you decided to work for us.”

Jill looked around in utter confusion.

“Are you okay, honey?” Layla asked, her face aping concern.

“I…I’m fine,” Jill said. She used the desk as a brace to get up.

“I’ll get you a soda,” Cole offered. “Welcome to ABC Auto Repair.”

“Thanks… I think,” Jill replied, looking at Layla fearfully.

Layla's Surprise Vistor

2008-02-05T18:41:10Z

This is fun. Layla and Cole return for a third visit. :)

While Cole delivered a customer’s car, Layla drove his 1994 Dodge Intrepid home. Stan told her he’d drive Cole home when he returned to the shop. She had been working as a receptionist for ABC Auto Repair for the past three weeks. Layla loved every minute of it, from trading insults and jokes with the crew to handling customers’ complaints. The only problem with her situation was Cole. Layla had been unable to put his fears to rest about a more intimate relationship.

She had tried flirting with his co-workers and even strangers. Nothing worked. Cole simply treated her like a buddy, smiling and laughing with his co-workers. Layla bit her lower lip in frustration and anger. He had even offered to help her get an apartment, so she could be on her own. She was falling in love with him, which was the most irritating concept of all to her. The Jinn punish humans for even the pettiest affront, and at every opportunity. They do not, she reminded herself, fall in love with them. Layla’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, remembering Cole was invulnerable to her magic. Layla poured herself half a glass of vodka from Cole’s small group of liquor bottles, and sat down on the couch. She turned on the TV, and watched an old episode of NCIS on the USA channel. Sipping the vodka, Layla relaxed as she watched the action series.

Layla sensed something wrong; but the vodka had dulled her perception, and she moved too slowly. Long nailed hands suddenly clamped her arms down, and an irresistible force bunched up against her legs. Layla looked into the red demon eyes, glowing hypnotically at her, willing her to be calm and still. She was lifted as if weightless, and pinned back against the living room wall, where the creature kept its eyes locked with Layla’s.

“Hello, Layla, remember me,” the voice like snakes sliding along a dried river bed crooned. “You granted me a wish once.”

“Oh… shit…” Layla moaned, unable to tear her eyes away from the vampire’s mind draining stare. “Hi Fred… you did ask… me for immortality.”

“You turned me into a monster!” Fred screamed in Layla’s face, his fangs dripping on her bare neck. “What goes around, comes around, baby. Some nitwit freed you from the lamp; and here you are, like a beacon, a veritable light house for your still mobile former masters. I thought it too good to be true… but here you are.”

“I… I can change you back, Fred,” Layla offered. “I’m free. I can give you ten… ten wishes.”

“Ever hear the old saw about a bird in the hand, L? I’ll take what I got.” Fred’s face struck at Layla’s neck, his fangs ripping through her flesh.

“Ohhhhh… don’t… Fred…” Layla’s voice gasped. “It…it feels so… kinky…”

Fred suddenly jackknifed backward, bloody mouth working in silent agony, and his hands clawing at the broom handle protruding from his chest. His body fell away into dust around the rigged stake. Layla slid down the wall contentedly, her wound healing as she reached the floor. Cole pulled her up into his arms, carrying Layla to the couch, and sitting down with her cradled to his chest.

“Layla… Layla…” Cole repeated, holding the smiling Layla’s chin cradled in his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” Layla whispered, her eyes fluttering open finally, looking into Cole’s concerned face. “How’d you know to stake it?”

“It takes a mechanic to know these things,” Cole joked, relief plain in his voice.

“Hummmm…” Layla wrapped her arms around his neck. “What else does a mechanic know?”

“Well, I know you’ve been hitting the vodka,” Cole grinned, and then kissed her as a string of unrepeatable expletives streamed from between Layla’s clenched teeth.

She quieted almost instantly.

Layla Gets A Job

2008-02-01T19:29:25Z

I liked Layla and Cole so much, I decided to give them a second run on the blog. :)

“Cole told me how instrumental you were in helping him get all our stolen equipment back, Layla,” the stocky, gray haired owner of ABC Repair said, looking at the young woman seated in front of his desk gratefully. “We’ve needed a receptionist for two months, since my former receptionist quit. Cole says he’s been teaching you what the receptionist’s job entails.”

“Yes, Mr. Gibson, I learn things rather magically,” Layla replied. “I believe I can fit right in and be productive.”

“Well, you type faster than I can speak; and as Cole already showed you, data entry is one of your most important duties. He probably didn’t spend a lot of time explaining customer service. Some of our customers are hard to get along with. That was the main reason our other receptionist quit.”

“Cole told me you back up your employees, and I am a people person. I understand sometimes what the customer wishes can be misunderstood. I am very good at getting wishes right,” Layla stated confidently.

“He said you don’t rattle easy, and that’s half the battle,” Gibson nodded. “I noticed you listed his address as your own.”

“Yes, we are roommates for the time being,” Layla explained. “Did you find my other papers to be in order?”

“No problem with your records, and my accountant has your payroll and benefits package all ready for you. I was wondering if you and Cole were… well… ah…”

“Sleeping together?” Layla asked with a laugh. “No, Mr. Gibson, Cole is rather discomfited at my near Genie like ability to grasp new concepts. We are just roommates.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Gibson sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Cole’s my best employee, and I don’t want a personal relationship with another employee make it so I lose him.”

“That will never happen, and if I even think it might, I will quit first.”

“Thanks, Layla, I want to sell Cole the business someday, you understand. Another thing, we get characters wandering in off the street most days, and it’s the receptionist’s job to politely steer them back out the door. They’re mostly harmless, looking for freebies and trying to con money. If they get belligerent, one of us will come help you. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, Sir.”

Gibson held out his hand, and Layla shook it. “Call me Stan, okay?”

“Sure, Stan, thank you.”

The day proceeded with Layla handling appointments and people flawlessly, and Cole’s co-workers kidding him mercilessly about his luck with women. Cole stayed with Layla for lunch in the office while everyone else went out for their meal.

“Stan is so impressed with you, I think he’s going to up your wages before you even get your first paycheck,” Cole complimented Layla. “How do you like it so far?”

“It is incredibly exciting… this making money,” Layla answered. “Stan told me he wants to sell you the business one day.”

“Yea, he’s mentioned the idea to me a few times. I’m not really people oriented. If I could get someone like you working with me, I might consider it.”

“What you mean like me?” Layla said, instantly letting her features show annoyance, complete with furrowed brow, and deep frown.

“Hey…” Cole laughed, “don’t give me that pout. I figured you’d be bored in a few days, and take off to wherever adventurous, free Genies go.”

“In other words, you think I have the attention span of a gerbil,” Layla continued her frowning displeasure. “It just so happens, unlike simple grease monkeys, we Genies relish challenges, and have been known to spend a century enjoying a single endeavor.”

“Well then, you’re more than welcome to stick around,” Cole added. “Hey… what do you mean simple grease monkey? The systems on these cars today have the same technology as the space shuttle. If…”

Layla began laughing, pointing her finger at Cole. “You… you are so easy.”

“Never spar with a smart ass Genie,” Cole concluded.

“Will I get to stay with you in more than this ridiculous platonic capacity we have going now?” Layla asked, elbows on the desk, hands supporting chin, and eyes batting innocently. “I noticed your reaction to my entering the shower this morning.”

“I was shaving, and the door was closed to let you know I was in there,” Cole stated defensively. “I’m not made of stone.”

“Part of you looked made of stone,” Layla chuckled. “A rather large part. Quit ducking the question.”

“I’m undecided about more than friendship with a magical being,” Cole admitted. “Maybe… oh crap… one of our regular street strollers I told you about is on his way in. I’ve had to escort this guy out more than once. I’ll handle him.”

“Avoiding my romantic advances, and now undermining me at work,” Layla admonished, standing and shaking her finger at Cole. “I’ll handle our visitor. Watch and learn wrench-boy.”

Cole shrugged his acceptance. Layla hurried out of the office in time to confront the over six foot tall man on his way past the employees only line painted on the floor. Layla smelled what she knew was liquor emanating in waves from the visitor. With a twitch of her hand, she made him smell like an evergreen tree. The man stopped when he saw Layla moving between him and the inner shop.

“Can I help you, Sir,” Layla asked pleasantly.

“I… I want to talk to Stan. Tell him it’s me, Denny. Hey… do you smell pine?” Denny asked, sniffing the air.

“I do now,” Layla replied with a smile, thinking it was better than used Scotch. “Mr. Gibson isn’t in right now, and I’m handling all customer relations for him. Can I make you an appointment for service on your vehicle?”

Denny leered at Layla, and she felt happy in having listened to Cole’s lecture about wearing skirts at knee length. It seemed from the look in Denny’s eyes even proper attire could be misconstrued. Layla snapped her fingers in front of Denny’s face.

“Hello… anybody in there?” Layla quipped, watching Cole in the office with both hands over his mouth, stifling laughter, as he peered out the office window.

“Huh…” Denny’s facial expression turned mean, as his eyes narrowed drunkenly, and his hands clenched into fists. “Better watch your mouth, girlie. I’ll give you an attitude adjustment you won’t ever forget.”

“I wish you would, Stinky,” Layla stated with a grin.

Denny raised his right hand to smash down across Layla’s face. In the next instant, Denny was a small pig, squealing and running around a laughing Layla’s legs in a continuous circle.

“Layla!!” Cole rushed out of the office, horror plain on his face.

“Oh calm down, you big girl,” Layla ordered Cole dismissively, gesturing at Denny the pig with her hand, changing him back.

Denny stared at Layla for a moment in terror; and turned to run at full speed out of the shop and down the street.

“See, this is why I’m uneasy around you,” Cole smiled, hoping not to share Denny’s experience. “I’d say something out of whack, and you’d turn me into a frog or something.”

“Only one problem with your reasoning, wrench-boy, I can’t work any magic on you, even if I wanted to. You set me free, which makes you immune. Feel better now?” Layla asked taking Cole’s left hand in both hers. “Besides, I bet Denny won’t be stopping in again.”

“Small doubt about that,” Cole agreed. “Does this mean you’re still under my power?”

“Maybe,” Layla answered in a whisper, running her right hand up Cole’s arm. “What do you have in mind?”

“Would you get me a cup of coffee?” Cole pulled free, and jogged into the back, turning to wave at her.

Layla’s hands went up before she remembered what she had just told him. Layla smiled suddenly, thinking oh yeah, wrench-boy, I’ll get you some coffee.

“I can hear you thinking of poisoning me from here, Layla,” Cole called out from the back, guessing correctly. “Cancel the coffee order. Bad Layla… bad.”

Layla giggled. He’s good, she thought, I’ll give him that.

Layla

2008-01-30T18:50:38Z

Since I don’t want to be accused of stealing anything in these unhappy times of plagiarism, I wrote this little Genie story from a suggestion written on Jordan Summers’ agent’s Publisher’s Marketplace site. After reading Ms. Ginger Clark wanted any manuscript with a genie, I thought I’d have a little fun with the idea. Anyway, there’s no charge for this, but that’s where the idea came from. :)

The young man walked along the rows of tables at the flea market, his face set in a grim mask of concentration. His fists clenched each time he noticed a table with used tools for sale, and immediately went over to investigate the items. Cole worked for an auto shop, which had been broken into the previous night. All of the employees’ tool boxes had been stolen. Thousands of dollars invested in his chosen profession disappeared overnight, leaving a bitter man hurrying around the area pawn shops and flea markets, looking for his lost tools. Something glinted in the sunlight as Cole passed by a haggard man with items laid out on a beat up blanket. Pausing, Cole searched idly for what he had glimpsed in the bright noontime of a San Jose, California day. What looked like a slim copper teapot lay in the middle of the blanket, catching the beams of light when seen at just the right angle. Cole picked it up, and the forlorn merchant shook his head in warning, gesturing negatively with his hand.

“You don’t want that thing, kid, trust me,” the worn out voice cautioned. “I’m selling it to someone more deserving.”

“Deserving of what?” Cole asked, turning the shiny object over in his calloused hands.

The hunched over old man, with grizzled gray beard in salt and pepper splotches, grinned up at the tall, intense young man. He looked Cole over appraisingly. Lithe corded muscle moved under the young man’s tee shirted form as Cole inspected the dully gleaming object. Pointing at Cole’s buzz cut brown hair, the old man’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted questioningly.

“Seen some action, huh kid?”

“I’ve been around,” Cole answered carefully.

“Saw some myself,” the old man muttered absently, a far off look momentarily making his eyes fade in introspection. Shuddering a little, the old man held out a gnarled sun browned hand. “Name’s Sonny.”

Cole shook his hand. “Cole. How much you want for this teapot, Sonny?”

“It ain’t no damn teapot. It’s an old oil lamp,” Sonny said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“How much?”

“I don’t want you…” Sonny bent over, clamping hands over his temples, as if in the grip of some painful head trauma.

Cole quickly put the lamp down, and helped the old man to his battered lawn chair. Sonny’s pain passed quickly, and he looked up at Cole with fearful compassion, his lip trembling.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked, real concern etched into his features, as he gripped Sonny’s shoulder to steady him.

“Give… give me five dollars… and it’s yours, kid.”

Cole reached into his pocket, extracting a twenty from the small number of folded bills he came up with. He stuffed the twenty dollar bill into Sonny’s hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, kid… worry about yourself,” Sonny answered, his head down. “Take it and go before I change my mind.”

“Sure, Sonny,” Cole replied, picking up his purchase. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, boy,” Sonny muttered after Cole had walked away.

At home in his apartment in San Leandro, Cole sat down heavily on a used maroon sofa in the living room. He held the only prize from nearly twelve hours spent perusing back area markets tiredly. The slender spout curved back into the larger body of the lamp. Cole pulled a few Kleenex from the box on his coffee table, wetting a portion with his own saliva. Rubbing the inscribed lamp base, Cole felt the lamp quake in his hands. He dropped it, lurching up from his couch warily. Foggy mist drifted eerily from the spout, forming into what looked to Cole like a storm cloud up at his apartment ceiling. Oval eyes opened in the cloud. Azure colored orbs gleamed brightly down at Cole’s retreating form. He stopped only after backing into his living room wall, gauging the distance to the door. Laughter like small silver chimes on a doorstep at Christmas echoed inside the mist cloud. A pale form, nearly five and half feet tall, took shape as the cloud eyes and mist dissipated.

“Sweet Jesus…” Cole gasped, his mind spinning out of control with mental images from his fictional encounters with magic lamps, both in book form and television.

“Cole, is it?” The raven haired beauty asked, with a voice soft as a whisper, yet resonate as a gale force wind. “I am Layla.”

“You…you’re a Jinn.”

“I can be anything you wish,” Layla said, clothing her form in black miniskirt and high heels, and then instantly into a flowing transparent chiffon, thigh high night gown. Her azure eyes blinked enticingly. “What would you wish?”

Cole stayed silent. He spoke only after five full minutes had passed.

“I saw an X-Files episode where these dimwits get some carpet Genie to grant wishes, which they subsequently destroy themselves with,” Cole stated carefully, as Layla began laughing appreciatively, clapping her small hands together.

“I’m not that kind of Genie,” Layla chuckled. “I saw the episode. Very entertaining.”

Cole smiled. “Let’s cut to the chase. I wish for you to be free of the lamp.”

Layla screamed her mouth and form swirling into a mini-whirlwind before disappearing.

Cole sat down on the sofa, running shaky hands through his close cropped hair.

“I guess old Sonny really was trying not to screw me over,” Cole murmured to himself, leaning back.

“He…he didn’t screw you over,” Layla said, her form materializing where she lay in a heap at Cole’s feet. “Sorry, I turned invisible for a moment.”

Cole edged away from Layla. “You’re free. Look, the lamp’s gone. Why are you still here?”

“As you say, I am free,” Layla said, clutching Cole’s leg, and leaning her head against his thigh. “You… have no idea… it has been thousands of years. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cole said, feeling as if his leg were on fire where Layla gripped it. “Have a nice life. Good luck to you.”

“I am free to grant you any wish I want, and no tricks,” Layla met Cole’s distrustful gaze steadily. “Let me thank you properly. I will even help you with picking your wish.”

“Okay…” Cole replied, his heart racing. “I’m going with simple. I want you to help me get all the stuff stolen from the auto shop I work at back.”

Layla took Cole’s hand, tilting it palm up, and kissed his palm. “Done.”

Cole stood inside a dingy steel building, filled with every imaginable item. Layla stood next to him in a mini-skirt with white blouse, gesturing happily.

“Your things are here, Cole.”

“Hey!” A gruff voice yelled from across the way, where two men had a table set up at the building entrance roll up door.

The two burly thugs ran across the warehouse to confront their visitors. They were both over six feet tall, and heavily built. When the two saw their intruders were unarmed, and one was a beautiful woman, the crooks stopped twenty feet away. They looked at each other and started laughing.

“Where the hell did you two come from?” One asked finally, as the two spread out, reaching for weapons. “You’re cute, baby.”

With but a gesture from Layla, the two went flying headfirst into the back wall of the warehouse, where they lay unmoving. Layla took Cole’s hand, and they were instantly standing next to a group of toolboxes and equipment. Cole jogged over to one on the right, a nearly six foot high Mac Tools box.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” Cole looked back at Layla gratefully. “I’ll call the police.”

“Call them from your workplace,” Layla smiled, and they were standing inside the auto shop where Cole worked, along with all the stolen gear.

“You’re amazing,” Cole whispered, taking Layla in his arms. “Thank you.”

“We’re even,” Layla grinned up at him mischievously, putting her arms around Cole’s neck. She kissed him, lightly at first, and then with growing passion. She broke away from him in confusion. “I…I felt that.”

“Oh yeah…” Cole reiterated.

“Maybe I could hang around with you for a while,” Layla offered, her azure colored eyes translucent gateways, Cole lost his way into immediately.

Cole put his arm around Layla’s shoulder. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Do you know anything about cars?”

“I can learn,” Layla leaned into Cole with a sigh.

Zombie Queen

2008-01-27T22:15:46Z

Here’s a little post with an in the box heroine, with politically incorrect views, I thought to have some fun with. Hope it gets a few smiles. :)

Jenny sat in English class, bored to tears. Once again her tenth grade English Lit teacher decided to launch into a global warming talk-a-thon, trying to tie the latest environmental money-making bonanza into Ralph Waldo Emerson’s works. Jenny looked out the window toward the high school fenced boundary, idly wondering if her next door neighbor Jim had skipped Algebra II class as he had told her he would. Ms. Kolinsky noticed the one face in the window row not turned toward her.

“Jenny… Jenny!”

“Yes?” Jenny returned her attention to Ms. Kolinsky reluctantly.

“Am I boring you?”

“Yes,” Jenny replied, hearing the giggling undercurrent her words evoked. “Emerson himself would gag if he listened to you trying to pair his individualistic free thinking with this herd mentality global warming con. My Dad said they claimed we were headed for a new ice age in the early seventies, and a lot of sheep bought into it then. Now, it’s global warming.”

“But…” Ms. Kolinsky gasped, swallowing hard, as Jenny’s classmates quieted in anticipation, “what of the polar icecaps melting? Is that a con too?”

“Mar’s polar icecaps have begun melting,” Jenny retorted. “Anyone know of excessive SUV driving on Mars? It’s the Sun, Ms. Kolinsky; and even if the entire world went back into caves, we couldn’t stop the Sun going through this warming cycle. I don’t…”

“Hey… look!” One of her classmates, named Debbie said, pointing out the window.

Screams of terror followed, as the entire class watched the fenced perimeter being breached by slow moving corpses. The rotting flesh tore off wherever caught on the sagging fence as the horrific horde staggered or crawled over the downed obstacle. Jenny clamped her hands over her ears.

“Shut up, you dorks!” Jenny ordered, quieting her classmates to bearable sobbing. “These things move like frozen honey. We beat their brains out, and don’t let them bite you. Didn’t anybody see the myriad zombie movies playing everywhere?”

“What happened?!” Ms. Kolinsky moaned, staring in disbelief at the approaching army of corpses. “This can’t be… it’s impossible… why…”

“Maybe it’s global warming,” Jenny suggested sarcastically. “Hell, they’re blaming everything else on it. C’mon Ms. K, snap out of it. You can’t hold a discovery conference on why we’re being attacked by zombies. We need to take these things out there in the open where they can’t surround us. I only count about thirty of the slugs. Let’s grab something to club them with and take care of business.”

“I…I can’t do this,” Ms. Kolinsky sat down at her desk, head in hands.

Jenny saw some others beginning to get down at the mouth, when the screaming started in earnest outside the classroom, as students and teachers ran around pointlessly in the hallways. Her friend Jim charged into the English Lit classroom, looking around wildly. When he saw Jenny, his whole countenance relaxed. Great, Jenny thought, someone I can count on.

“I was afraid you’d skipped class,” Jim said, taking her hands. “I see you noticed the refugees from Night of the Living Dead.”

“We need clubs,” Jenny told him.

“The gym will have aluminum baseball bats, hockey sticks, cricket paddles…”

“Outstanding,” Jenny pulled him toward the door, while looking back at her stunned classmates. “Jim and I are going to get armed and kick some zombie ass. Anyone interested in joining us, come on along.”

Many kids stayed where they were, huddled in abject fear, staring like deer in the headlights out the windows. Seven others, four boys and three girls, followed Jim and Jenny out into the hallway. Shouting about getting armed and kicking zombie ass, Jenny gathered a small army of students on the way to the high school gym. They found the high school gym teacher hiding in his locked office. It had windows, and Jenny pounded on the door.

“Open up, Mr. Keefer, we need the keys to the equipment locker!”

When Keefer turned away, shaking his head fearfully, Jenny picked up a chair from the outer locker room and smashed it into the office window, shattering it. Jim went through the opening lithely. The over six foot tall Jim, who had played both football and basketball for Keefer, spun the man around.

“Man up, coach. Open the equipment locker!” Jim shouted in the terrified man’s face.

Keefer extended his shaking hand to Jim with his keys. Jim grabbed the key ring and vaulted out the window. They quickly opened the equipment room. The couple passed out everything useable for zombie warfare, including helmets and shoulder pads, making sure everyone with them had something formidable to swing. Jenny led the way through the gym exit, carefully scanning the grounds for errant zombies. With Jim at her side, she led the dozens of grim faced kids around the building. Jenny yelped in delight, waving her aluminum bat, when she saw the zombies had spread out after breaking through the fence.

“Stay in threes!” Jenny called out. “Pick your hitter, and surround each slug one at a time. Don’t waste your time on body parts! Pulp the head! Keep your hitter covered from other slugs until the hitter finishes, and then move on to the next target. I’ll show you how it’s done. C’mon Jim, you and Debbie watch my back.”

Charging ahead, whooping in anticipation, Jenny ran at the first zombie staggering across the lawn toward the building, a full twenty feet ahead of its companions. Jenny circled the slow motion corpse, and swung the aluminum bat at its head, hitting the thing as it tried to turn with a sickening crunch of skull. The zombie pitched forward to its hands and knees. With Debbie and Jim flanking her, Jenny busted the zombie’s head apart. It collapsed unmoving to the ground.

“Get ‘em!!!” Jenny screamed out to her student army, urging them forward with her bat.

In threes, the crowd of students charged confidently after seeing Jenny’s easy handling of the undead zombie. The battle ended fifteen minutes later. Joyful students celebrated their triumph by busting the unmoving corpses into pieces. Jenny let it go on for a time, and then called out for order. With Jim at her side, Jenny spoke in calm terms.

“Let’s go back in the school, and get the sheep inside armed. We don’t know if there are thousands of these things or what. We’ll try and contact people; but for now, we’re on our own.”

“What do we do if they won’t join us,” Debbie asked seriously.

“They’ll join us now, or we’ll threaten to feed them to the zombies,” Jenny answered, drawing laughter from the students. “Let’s go.”

“I bet you were surprised all those zombie movies I dragged you to would come in handy, huh?” Jenny asked Jim, nudging him as they walked toward the school.

“I’ll never doubt you again, Xena,” Jim laughed, putting his arm around Jenny’s shoulders.

Auto Shop Snark

2008-01-26T03:00:56Z

Sitting at the desk, filling out invoices, I noticed a woman walk in from the sidewalk, and my motion detector went off. The woman stood still, about twenty feet inside the shop, looking around from wall to wall. She turned when I left the office and shut the door behind me. Dark brown hair hung loosely around the lady’s face, and she wore a navy blue pants-suit with slate gray knee length coat. Her age could have been somewhere between the late twenties to early thirties.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I moved in around the corner on Dale Place, and I’m looking for a good mechanic,” she explained. “Your shop’s kind of dirty.”

Ouch.

“Yea, it’s an old building, and I have trouble keeping it spotless, or even near spotless. My comic shop you walked past when you came in was completed only a few years ago, and it’s spotless inside.”

“But you don’t fix cars in there,” Ms. Shop Snark points out.

Ouch. 0 for 2.

“Your lighting in here isn’t very good either."

Ouch. 0 for 3.

"It’s almost like a cave when you first walk in,” Shop Snark adds. “I read on the internet when looking for a mechanic, the customer needs to check the general appearance on the inside of a shop, as well as the outside.”

“I’ve read that too,” I reply, since I’m having trouble disputing anything she’s said so far. “I have a lot of customers on Dale Place. If you ask around, you’ll find I make up for my shortcomings in shop appearance with…”

“I did ask around,” Shop Snark cuts me off with one of those smiles best left out of the family photo album. “You do have a good reputation in the neighborhood, and you’ve been here a long time. I notice though you don’t even have car lifts in here.”

Ouch. 1 for 5.

“Yea, I do everything with jacks and stands. Because the building beams are so low, lifts were not feasible when the prior owner outfitted the shop. I don’t do tires here, so I can manage pretty well with what I have for everything else. My electrical and computer diagnostic equipment is all up to date, as is my informational database repair software and tooling. I do everything here except for transmission rebuilding and alignments.”

“And tires,” Shop Snark finishes for me. “Could I have one of your cards? I’ll keep you in mind.”

I give the Shop Snark a card, and she leaves. Wow, I’ve had better times with the Bureau of Automotive Repair inspector. :)

Texting Tina

2008-01-24T14:27:15Z

I drove up this morning, and a woman in a short-sleeved top and pants was standing near my shop’s big rollup door. She clutched one of those mini-pad phones, working her thumbs on the keypad, all hunched up bodily, with complete concentration. I shivered just looking at her, because the temperature hovered in the forty-five degree range. Exiting my old Buick, banging the car door shut, opening the small entrance door, nothing made this lady look up from her texting. Five minutes later, I opened the roll-up entrance door she stood texting in front of (not a silent enterprise). It did not phase texting Tina whatsoever. I went over in front of her; and stood there, trying to get her attention without speaking. I was afraid she’d come out her texting coma swinging. My eight o’clock appointment would be driving up any minute. She finally gave out with a disgusted gasp, and looked up.

“What?!”

“You’re standing in front of my main entrance, ma’am,” I informed her pleasantly. “If you could move a few steps down the sidewalk, I’d appreciate it.”

“Fine!” Texting Tina blurted out, and marched exactly a foot past the entrance opening, and went right back to work.

I watched her for a few more moments, wondering if I should get an old jacket out of the back and drape it over her. My customer arrived though, and I left the dedicated texting waif to her duty. Okay, someone has to say this, so here goes. I understand you may want to text someone when in a location where your voice would bother others; but when on a public sidewalk, why not walk, talk, and flail your arms around like all the other cell-phone junkies? :)

The Return of the Hugger

2008-01-22T20:45:53Z

My incoherent street guy who likes to hug stopped in. I heard the familiar sound out front of someone involved in a one sided conversation; but at first, I figured it was another cell-phone addict. You know the ones. They walk down the street waving their arms, staring straight ahead, and speaking or yelling at no one visible. When I’ve gone out front in the past to see if they’re talking to me, I get the arrogant finger point to some ear insert. This time, I’m in the middle of cutting up boxes for the recycler, when the voice comes into the shop. I go out with box and cutters in hand as the man approaches. It’s the Huggy Bear. He immediately puts his arms out, a big smile on his face, and comes toward me. I meet him with the box I held in hand.

“No hugs, how can I help you?”

Huggy Bear lets loose with three full minutes of utter nonsense, or it might as well have been, because I don’t understand a word of it. When he gets through, he looks at me expectantly, and then goes for the hug again. Again, I meet him with the box.

“No hugs,” I repeat. “I didn’t understand anything you said.”

Huggy’s lip starts quivering, and he says, “I hate myself.”

Yea, I’m thinking, I’m not real partial to you either. I smile and nod understandingly.

“I…I just got back from Saudi Arabia,” Huggy informs me, still trying to squeeze a couple tears out.

I can’t help it. I start laughing. The county jail, maybe… Saudi Arabia, no. He tries to look outraged for a moment, gives it up, and tries to hug me again. Up went the box. At least he wasn’t drunk this time. Huggy launches into stories of three or four cars I’d worked on for him in the past; which of course I didn’t, but I can understand what he’s saying now.

“Give me a business card,” Huggy orders suddenly.

I hand him a business card. He looks at it, and walks out. A few seconds later I hear him shouting again, and walk out to watch him. There’s nobody around Huggy, so I go back inside. Maybe he sees dead people. :)

Parka-man

2008-01-05T04:29:11Z

It’s raining in California finally, the first this New Year. As I scrabbled around under a 98 Toyota 4-Runner, my motion detector went off. Rolling to my left, I saw a huge figure standing in the middle of my front entrance. The grayish background of rain and fading light made an impressive contrast for his bright yellow parka. The parka hood flopped loosely over my visitor’s forehead, so his facial features were hidden. Immobile and dripping rain, all the guy needed was a chainsaw, and we had the start of a new horror series.

When I walked out to greet him, Parka-man didn’t say anything. He reached into the top of his grimy yellow slicker, and I started gauging how far I was from my nearest weapon. Parka pulled out an air-ratchet, waving it a little in his left hand.

“You have one of these… five bucks…” Parka-man offered, his voice a bit higher than I expected.

“I have all the air tools I need,” I answered.

“It ain’t stolen,” Parka tells me.

“I didn’t say it was.” I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

The yellow hood bobs slightly in acknowledgement, and the air-ratchet gets shoved back inside the parka.

“You need any help around here?” The yellow hood swings from side to side, looking around the inside of the shop.

“Sorry, this is a one man shop.”

“Pretty big shop for just one guy,” Parka remarks gloomily. (Warning! Disallowed Adverb) :)

“Yea, I have plenty of room,” I agree.

The hood bobs once again, and Parka-man turns to leave. I watch him till he rounds the shop door corner before returning to my Toyota job. The rain didn’t keep everyone inside.

Let's Kill A Character

2008-01-01T19:38:56Z

I’m following a discussion on two different blogs, Tess Gerritsen, and Dear Author, about killing off main characters. It has happened so many times to me when reading books, since I was a child; I vowed never to kill off a major character in any book I wrote. Not being a fan of non-fiction, my reading is exclusively fiction. I never quite figured out why fiction authors assassinate a character or characters they’ve spent hundreds of pages, or many series books, building into a solid vision in their readers’ heads. I have read some authors’ reasoning, for this plot destruction, as their attempt at keeping it real. If you wish to keep it real, get a job in journalism. What the hell are you writing fiction for? :) I remember when my brother Paul, who read every manuscript I ever wrote, called me up after beginning Casserine. He said, ‘tell me right now you little prick, did you kill off any of your main characters? If you did, I ain’t reading the rest.’ I laughed, and asked him if he knew me at all. He said, ‘okay, just checking’.

Although fiction writers can do whatever they want with their work, I don’t get this infatuation with what I call the ‘Old Yeller’ syndrome; where you spend creative genius establishing a beloved character, only to snuff ‘em to keep it real. As a reader, if I want real, I’ll pick up the local newspaper. :)

Voices

2007-12-29T15:19:06Z

I couldn't pass up displaying this picture.

I know rain depresses many people, especially when in some parts it never lets up for more than a day. In California, it seldom rains. At my shop, rain will drop the number of street artist drop-ins down to zero. Although these comical denizens supplied funny moments this year to write about, I don’t miss them when the rain limits their street excursions. Rain usually causes breakdowns; but if I’m successful in preaching preventative maintenance during the year, my regular customers don’t experience them. When rain falls like on Friday, the day proceeds with repair appointments, phone spam, glances out the big door at wet sidewalks, and quiet normalcy. Customers ask me all the time how I can stand working alone. I’m never alone. Characters run around in my head all day long, spouting dialogue, and telling tales. :)

Braking Point

2007-12-26T18:34:23Z

“Okay, I want you to tell me how this can happen,” a guy in his mid thirties growled at me from the doorway where I had just opened the big rollup door.

He held out a set of disc brake pads worn down past the metal. Having done a few disc brake jobs, I recognized the pads, at least what was left of them. They were off a GM vehicle. I didn’t know this guy, at least I didn’t think I knew him. I’m getting to the age where I’m not real sure about anything. I’ll call him Unhappy Brake.

“The disc brake pads wore down. They weren’t replaced in time to save the rotors, which must have been ground down to scrap,” I state the obvious; because I have no clue where Unhappy is going with this. “Where’d you have the brakes done?”

Mr. Brake named a place in Oakland I wasn’t familiar with.

“This is after only eight thousand miles!” Unhappy raises the level of dialogue, at least in volume.

“Why are you here, and not there?” I asked.

“I need a second opinion. Those assholes tell me the pads wore out because I refused to replace the rotors when they did the job. No way pads wear out this quick for any reason,” Unhappy informs me authoritatively.

Au contraire, Mon Ami.

“May I see your invoice?” I asked, not wanting to shoot my mouth off before discovering a few more facts. Mr. Brake digs the receipt from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. I look it over, and what do you know? The shop wrote right at the bottom of the invoice: ‘Rotors below minimum thickness, customer refuses recommended replacement. This will cause premature pad wear.’ I pointed it out to Unhappy. “They did warn you what would happen if you didn’t replace the rotors, Sir. What they wrote is true. Another thing is you kept driving, even when this sensor on the pad was singing in your ear down the street.”

I showed him the pads with spring metal sensors; which ride against the rotor to warn the driver with a squealing noise the pads are at replacement thickness. They were worn to nothing. It is a noise no one short of the deaf can ignore. Dogs will follow your vehicle, howling for your blood if you ignore the sensor noise.

“You’re in it with them! All of you people…”

“Hold on there, let’s keep from saying things we might regret,” I interrupt. “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. You didn’t want to spend the money for rotors. This shop was nice enough to let you dictate to them how to do the job. They warned you what would happen. You drove till the pads destroyed the rotors once and for all, thinking you could pull off the old ‘look what your pads did to my rotors’. Instead of apologetically replacing everything, they pointed at the note on your invoice and said have a nice day. How am I doing?”

Unhappy’s mouth worked for a moment with no sound. He then grabbed his receipt from my hand, and off he went without another word. Off I went to the backroom to share Unhappy’s experience at my shop. I hope the other shop takes Unhappy’s feedback to be a warning: don’t let customers dictate how brake jobs are done. If not, I'll have to get in touch with all my 'people', and get this straightened out before some other Unhappy outs us to the public. :)

Just Comics Today

2007-12-24T23:14:39Z

It’s a kick being in the comic shop on Christmas Eve Day, playing Christmas Carols and writing. I still had a bunch of sample comics left over from Free Comic Book Day, so I passed out a lot of those already. A guy came in and made the day. He bought my two latest self-published novels, and the newest Ghost Rider mini-series. The main sales so far have been from my twenty-five to seventy-five cent boxes, but that’s okay. The kids remind me of my trips to the local drugstore comic book rack when I was young. To top it all off, no young thugs today yet. :)

Escort Troubles

2007-12-20T22:26:29Z

I’m sitting in the office, and I see movement through the glass, followed by a low pitched growl or clearing the throat noise. Upon opening the door, I see a man with one foot in the entrance, looking intently for something inside the shop. He sees me step through my office door and straightens up.

“Uh… hi… can I help you,” I asked, thinking it might be Tuesday's Santa, out of uniform.

“Sorry… I thought there might be a dog… you know… lot’s of places around here have dogs,” the man explained.

“Usually only the drug dealers,” I reply with a smile; “but no, I don’t have any dogs.”

“Oh… good, I have a Ford Escort. It needs a clutch. How much to get it done… just a ballpark figure will do.”

I give him a ballpark figure and he laughs. Maybe I should have added a couple hundred.

“No… you don’t… understand,” the man waves his hand, still chuckling. “I’ll supply the clutch.”

“Not here you won’t,” I reply amiably.

“Really?” He looks at me incredulously, as if he knows all the other repair places are putting in customer’s cheapo parts, and I’m the last holdout.

“No,” I reiterate firmly. “Bargain auto parts stores sell parts cheaply for the Do-It-Your-Self folks. If you wish to buy your own parts, you’ll probably have to install them yourself. A clutch job on a front wheel drive vehicle is not the typical Do-It-Yourself type project.”

“There are several shops I’ve already talked to that’ll do it. I…”

“Great news for you,” I say enthusiastically; because if there are several places putting in customer supplied clutch parts, they’re doing them out of their garage at home, and the chances of him driving his Escort away in good shape are practically nil. “I wish you well.”

I go back in the office, and he follows me in. Oh boy.

“I just live around the corner. It would be easier if you’d do the job.”

“That may be; but if you have it done here, it will be with my parts, at or around the price I quoted you.”

“You mean it could be more?”

“Since I’ve never laid eyes on your car, the answer is yes. It could even be slightly less. I won’t start the job until I give you a complete estimate. You can give me the go ahead then, or drive it out.”

“Shit!” The man exclaims and leaves in a huff.

We don’t give much Christmas cheer in the auto repair business. We’re like the Bad News Bears unfortunately. :)