Car Trouble - part 2

I like dialog. One might go so far as to say I'm a conversation junkie. I like verbal exchanges, word play, innuendos, double entendre and yes, even puns. I particularly like conversations where the two main characters get to know one another.

I did a few "first meetings" not long ago, and I decided to revisit that and post a few more. This is the first part of a novel called "Car Trouble" - as yet unfinished.

The disconcerting thing about this novel is that I had car trouble myself in the exact spot that Kent has car trouble in the first chapter. Only that didn't inspire this tale, because that happened weeks after I started this story. In fact, I was driving home from a meeting planning to work on it when my tire blew.

My rescuer wasn't a hunky male, he looked more like Rodney Dangerfield, but he was friendly & efficient, getting me back on the road safe and sound.

I got out, dragging my meager possessions with me. There was more in the car, but I wasn't about to try to carry it all. Taking my other keys off the ring, I left my car key with Rosalie in the office and followed Cadence to her pickup.

"Mr. Mason, you look like a man in need of a cup of coffee," Cadence said as we hopped into her dark colored pickup.

"I do indeed, Miss Jacoby. I'm beat, but wide awake, if that makes any sense."

"I understand completely. I live on caffeine when I work this shift. I don't usually take it, just covering for one of the guys. He's out with the flu."

She pulled into an all night diner, parking out front. It was surprisingly full for nearly three o'clock in the morning. We found a booth, ordered coffee and pie and sat there awkwardly trying to find something to talk about.

I got a good look at my companion for the first time. She was an attractive brunette, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Athletically built, she was muscular and looked stronger than some men I know. I'm no slack, but she could whoop my ass easy if I got too fresh. Her eyes were a dark hazel rimmed with long, black lashes. Dressed in jeans and a company T-shirt in day glow green, she looked very competent.

I felt even more as if I had spent the last twenty-four hours in the same suit. I was clammy and sticky, my T-shirt and underwear still damp from sitting in a too hot car while I waited for the tow truck.

"Pardon my saying, Mr. Mason, you look beat."

"Kent," I mumbled. "I am. It's been a long trip."

"Well, at least you had car trouble close to home."

"Yeah. It's been giving me serious trouble since Tallahassee. I kept having visions of getting stranded along I-10 in the middle of B.F.E. I hate that stretch of road."

"Having had car trouble along there, I sympathize. I was lucky it wasn't anything serious. I was able to fix it and got back on the road. It was creepy out in the dark though. I kept imagining someone sneaking up on me while I had my head in the engine."

"Oh, you fix cars as well? I thought you just drove the truck."

"My dad taught me how to tear down and rebuild an engine when I was ten. I've been working on cars since I was little."

"I know about this much," I held my fingers an inch apart. "Put the key in, turn it, internal combustion takes place and it moves. If one of those steps fails to happen...." I spread my hands helplessly.

She grinned, her dark eyes twinkling. "Then you call me."

"Exactly!"

"So, you're an author, huh? What kind of books to you write?"

"Crime novels, for the most part. Though I've tried my hand at other things as well. I've got a sci-fi series and even a few of romance novels."

"Romance? You aren't secretly gay, are you?"

"Why does everyone think that? Men can write romance novels too, you know. Of course, mine are more smut than romance...."

I laughed at my joke, I write mostly historical romance and they aren't very smutty. However, I can turn my hand at smut if it helps pay the bills.

"Oh, smut boy, huh?" She grinned, taking a sip of her coffee.

I sipped mine too, stinging my mouth. Gasping, I gulped my water to cool my blistered tongue. Eyes watering, I stirred my coffee and took a bite of my pie.

"I should have warned you," she looked concerned. "It's the hottest coffee I've ever had. I don't know how they do it."

"Pass it through a nuclear generator," I speculated. "Dear God, that's hot! Now that I've nearly killed myself, do you need to warn me about the pie?"

Cadence giggled, shaking her head. "I haven't hurt myself on the pie yet. Though apple... You never know with apple. They might have dropped a hand grenade in there."

"Yep, you'd never know the difference."

"Until you blew up."

"That would give it away, for sure."

"One might even say, 'a dead give away'," she smirked.

I know it's a cheesy joke, but I couldn't stop laughing. Blame it on a lack of sleep, or the fact I'd been traveling for nearly two weeks. Whatever it was, I felt like a complete idiot.
When I started to choke, I felt like a pathetic, lame, weak, complete idiot.

"Are you okay?" Her eyes held concern.

I could see myself in the window, turning red in the face, blue eyes watering, blond curly hair awry. All I could do was nod and gasp, so I did. No words came out, just gasping. Pretty soon everyone in the diner was looking at me. I could see a couple guys in the corner mentally reviewing the Heimlich Maneuver and wondered vaguely if it worked on liquid. I was pretty sure it didn't. Eventually, I stopped gasping and coughing, eyes watering like crazy. I looked like a victim of tear gas.

"Sorry," I wheezed. "Water went down wrong."

"You're a wreck, Kent."

Mentally, I was kicking myself. I liked this woman. She was bright and interesting with a similar sense of humor. Not only that, she was gorgeous. Except for book signings, I don't get out a lot and I haven't had a proper date since 1996.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. Not since 2006 when I got divorced. To be specific, I was figuratively ganked in the courtroom when my wife took virtually everything I owned. I now live in a modest rental home in Edgewater when I used to have a magnificent beach house in New Smyrna. My wife has the magnificent beach home, my Porsche and my dog, Ripper.

I realized with a lurch that my companion was speaking and I hadn't heard much of what she said.

"Kent, are you sure you're okay? You don't look so hot."

"Exhausted, Cadence. Nothing more."

"Maybe I better take you home."

I insisted on paying for our coffee and pie, leaving a more generous tip than it was worth, but I felt like I should atone for the choking fit in some way.

Gone But Not Forgotten - Part 17

Screaming, weeping, Matilda followed the other three to the ladder, falling over obstacles in the dark, tripping on her own feet, hysterical with grief. She knew she had to get the rest of the team out, but she could hardly breathe. Panic took hold of her as another tremor, longer, deeper and more urgent shook the ground under their feet.

The other members stood by the ladder, uncertain what to do. "Up the ladder, reverse numbers!"

She had enough where-with-all to know she had to be last. Jane went first and the rest followed, hesitating over the gaps in their ranks, noticing and mourning those missing.

There was one person left, the largest man in the group. Mike delayed before going up. "You first, Matilda."

She shook her head. "By the numbers, Mike."

He forced a grin. "Yes, ma'am."

He put one foot on the ladder and the shaft began to crumble. He leapt back, knocking her aside as the soft, black dust fell over them. She had a moment of panic and she knew no more.
* * *

Matilda woke with a start, gasping for breath, the darkness thick around her. She couldn't move, her arms and legs pinned down. The weight was excruciating and she wished she had stayed unconscious. A minute or two later, she realized what had woken her.

"4-6-2, this is Base. 4-6-2, this is Base. Can you hear me?"

She moaned, her entire body felt broken.

"4-6-2, Matilda, this is Jane. Can you hear me? Mike? Answer me!" Her voice held an edge of desperation.

"It's me," Mike croaked. "Matilda is here, I can feel her next to me." He tapped her left arm.

"Can't see..." Matilda groaned.

"The tunnel fell in on you. A team is on the way. Can you move?"

"No," Matilda said after a few moments of trying.

"Negative, Base," Mike sounded less wounded than she.

After a few more minutes, she realized part of the weight on her was Mike's body. She moaned again.

The pain was incredible and she slipped once more into unconsciousness. When she woke again, she was in the Guild infirmary. Sterile white walls met a black and white tile checkerboard floor. Muted voices and the sounds of food carts greeted her ringing ears.

She could not turn her head as she was in a neck brace, but her peripheral vision showed her the bed next to her was empty. The sheets looked rumpled, so someone had been using it.

The toilet flushed and Mike hobbled out on crutches. His smile was warm and friendly, tinged with sadness. Reality struck home as she remembered Bobby's last words as he fell. Tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed, mourning his loss and that of their friends.

"They are still looking, Matilda."

"He fell too far, Mike. I know it. Their bodies will never be found. What happened?"

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her right hand. The left was in traction.

"They hit a pocket of Essine gas when they were digging. That entire side of the mine went down. They've had to close the whole site."

"Tests and scans are supposed to be done for Essine...."

He nodded sadly. "Someone screwed up."

"I'll have their job for this!" The pain increased with her anger.

"They're dead, Tilda. Just like Bobby."

"Not just like! At least their death was quick! He fell and there was nothing I could do! Just stand there and watch!" It was then she noticed her ring finger was bare. "My ring!" Before she could get more worked up, he handed her a small plastic bag with her engagement ring. The band had been sliced and it was covered with muck and crusted blood.

"They had to cut it off, but the nurse made sure to save it. You can get it cleaned and repaired, it will be good as new." Her lip was trembling and hot tears spattered the bag, puddling in the folds and creases.

"It doesn't matter. Put it away."

He did as she asked and waited for the food cart to stop by. There was nothing left to say. No words could make her feel any better.

NaNoWriMo is in Full Swing. Are You In?

I'm participating in NaNoWriMo again and loving it. The first part of the novel came fast and furious, but the muse is now being stubborn. I have had to cut and restart a couple times. I know technically that's not something they encourage, but I knew I wouldn't ever finish if I didn't redirect and fix it. It's going more in the right direction now -WHEW! Below is an excerpt of my story, a crime/ romance blend.

The original idea came from something that actually happened to me. The character of Teague has my perspective & point of view in the incident that sparked this story. Of course, I've added to and embellished, but the basic thread here is real. I don't know what the bikers were doing, if it was a strange and oddly convenient coincidence, but it's something that stuck with me.

Teague McMurtry has recently left the Army. At 24, he's seen more blood and death than most men his age. Quite by accident, he gets involved in something strange, mysterious and deadly. Is the beautiful Vivica really what she claims, the innocent sister of a psychotic mastermind? Or is she drawing him into something dangerous and deadly? An excerpt from "The Ninja Tattoo" is below.


Early morning sun set the sky on fire, glistening off the water, momentarily blinding him. He flipped down the visor then dug his sunglasses out of the glove compartment, sliding them up his nose with one hand. He'd chosen the scenic route to work just so he could enjoy the sunrise. It wasn't often he got out this early. The river looked like molten silver shot with gold strands. The sky was a cheerful blend of rose, lavender, azure, peach and plum. The sun peeping over the horizon was tinged with red, indicating the start of another scorcher. Hot weather was not unusual in Florida, but wasn't the norm for this late in the year.

Teague McMurtry waved to the few pedestrians out at this hour. He knew some of them slightly, since many of them were his neighbors. Working the odd hours he did, he rarely saw anyone. However, since moving a month ago to his small house on Riverside Drive, his neighbors had made a point of coming over to introduce themselves. It was by far the friendliest neighborhood he had ever lived in.

The road was empty as he drove south toward his job site in Oak Hill. He had an estimate to do down there and had to be in New Smyrna by 10:00, leaving him plenty of time in between. By the time he got to the police station in Edgewater, only a few blocks from his home, he had joined a convoy of sorts. In the lead was a bronze Ford pickup. Directly in front of Teague was a guy on a motorcycle. Behind him was another motorcycle, a red Jeep and, he thought, a third bike behind the Jeep. It seemed odd since the road had been so empty before. He couldn't quite remember noticing when he came upon these others, but figured they all had the same idea, keeping out of school traffic on US-1.

The pickup was going the speed limit, which was a little frustrating. In fact, the driver went 25, then 20, 30 and 15. Teague wanted to lay on his horn, but didn't want to startle the biker, so he kept his frustration to himself. The biker didn't look any happier with the truck than he was. From time to time, he glanced behind him, trying to see around Teague's white Dodge Ram. Apparently, the motorcycles were traveling together and somehow Teague had gotten in between them.

At the turnoff for 442, the guy ahead of Teague gestured with his left arm, motioning as if he were turning. Teague slowed, anticipating the right turn, but the biker sped up, his black and white Ninja, following the truck as it continued past the intersection. Instead, the red Jeep, followed by another biker, turned right and headed up 442. This left the truck, Teague and two bikers. It seemed strange to him and he began to wonder what was going on. His overactive imagination clicked into high gear and he started imagining scenarios.

“Maybe the guy in the truck is with them and he's giving directions to the guy on the white Ninja?”

He thought that over, wondering how they were communicating. The guy ahead of him was probably about his age with short, sandy brown hair. He had on a T-shirt, baggies, skater shoes and sunglasses. He wasn't wearing a helmet and he didn't have a cellphone out. So that was probably not the case. The biker behind Teague was also on a Ninja, this one bright blue, He wore a white helmet with a dark visor. He was wearing clothing similar to the man ahead of him. What characterized them both was the fact they were heavily tattooed. What Teague had first taken as a tan or sunburn, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be elaborate tattoos on neck, arms and legs.

The road turned right, coming to a end at US-1. Stopping for the light, the man ahead of Teague leaned back on his bike, glancing at the guy behind him. He motioned to himself, indicating he was going right. Gesturing at the rider behind Teague, he pointed left. The other man nodded, giving the lead biker a thumbs up. The light changed and the fellow on the white Ninja followed the truck while the man on the blue one followed Teague. Feeling a bit paranoid, he moved over to the right lane, anticipating that the biker would go around him. It didn't even occur to him that the other man would stay behind him, but he did. He didn't ride Teague's bumper, rather stayed at least two car lengths back, shadowing him. If Teague changed lanes, so did the biker.

The hairs on his neck stood at attention. Something was decidedly weird. This man's behavior negated everything Teague had ever seen bikers do. They generally crowded until they could pass, then buzzed around the other vehicles way too fast, disappearing suddenly as they sped up. Approaching the subdivision near Oak Hill, Teague signaled his turn. The biker looked ready to follow, but continued down the highway. As Teague checked in at the security gate, the biker slowed, making a U turn, he continued back up US-1. Once he was cleared, Teague drove to the house whose yard he was landscaping. He tried to put the bikers out of his mind, but their odd behavior was so out of the ordinary, he couldn't.

Pat Bertram is my Guest Blogger!

Most how-to books on writing suggest getting the first draft down as quickly as possible so that the passion shines through. This is good advice, and I would follow it if stories came easy to me, but they never do. I worried about this (for five minutes or so), wondering if my novels would feel dry and unemotional because I approach them as a puzzle, but the only difference between my way of writing and the so-called right way is that I do my thinking as I write rather than as I rewrite.
Is one way better than another? I don’t know, but if we accomplish what we set out to do, both the logical writers and the passionate ones can end up with interesting stories that will evoke emotions in our readers. In my case, during rewrites I get rid of much of the dryness that comes from the puzzle approach. In your case, perhaps, you lose some of that freewheeling passion when you organize what you have written into a more cohesive story.

We all have to find the best way to write. I am not condoning poor grammar, typographical errors, bad plotting, ignorance of story elements, or any of those other rules that new writers rail against. I’m talking about the fun of writing, the passion, the puzzle.

Samuel Johnson remarked, “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.” I guess that makes most of us blockheads, because we write knowing that except for a select group, there is little money to be made from writing. We need other reasons for spending so much time bleeding words.

For me, it’s the puzzle. As frustrating as it gets, I love figuring out plots, character’s motives, new ways of presenting common thoughts. Beats crossword puzzles any day.

Pat Bertram is a native of Colorado and a lifelong resident. When the traditional publishers stopped publishing her favorite type of book — character and story driven novels that can’t easily be slotted into a genre — she decided to write her own. Daughter Am I is Bertram’s third novel to be published by Second Wind Publishing, LLC. Also available are More Deaths Than One and A Spark of Heavenly Fire.

Daughter Am I: When twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart learns she inherited a farm from her recently murdered grandparents-grandparents her father claimed had died before she was born-she becomes obsessed with finding out who they were and why someone wanted them dead. Along the way she accumulates a crew of feisty octogenarians-former gangsters and friends of her grandfather. She meets and falls in love Tim Olson, whose grandfather shared a deadly secret with her great-grandfather. Now Mary and Tim need to stay one step ahead of the killer who is desperate to dig up that secret.

Tangled Web covers

By leaving a comment below, vote for your favorite cover. Random drawing will be held for a free, signed copy when the book is published!

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Gone But Not Forgotten - Part 14

Room assignments came next. Couples were housed on the first three floors, singles paired up and were on floors four through eight.

"Take a key and move on," the attendant here said. "One key per person."

Before leaving the building, they received directions to their building and then put their stasuits. These were checked and rechecked at the door. Corrections were made as needed, none too politely.

"We start Monday, Tilda," Bobby sounded apprehensive.

"Bobby, I hate this place," Matilda shuddered, clinging to his arm.

"So do I, honey. It will be all right, we won't be here all that long."

They found their room without any difficulty. James and his girlfriend, Stella, were next door. After unpacking their scant belongings in the cheerless, tile and metal room, they went to the cafeteria in the basement. Each dorm had its own to minimize exposure to the outdoors. The food wasn't too bad, at least it wasn't gray.
* * *
Monday dawned and the only difference was that the sky was a lighter shade of gray than it was at night. Darkness took on a lurid cast in the light of the orange gas lights scattered about.

Decked out in their gear, the four of them approached the mine with trepidation. They had been assigned to a team with six other people. After three weeks of training, Matilda would be taking over. She was terrified.

"I don't really see why you get to be in charge," Jane complained for the hundredth time. "I scored higher than you on the aptitude test."

"Only two points," Stella quipped, liking Jane's discomfort.

"Because," James was only too happy to be the one explaining this time, "she out ranked you on Saltulle. Foreman DuLac, remember?"

Jane stalked away in a huff. James and Stella laughed after her.
"She can have the job as far as I'm concerned," Matilda commented. "Do you know how many rules and safety regulations I have to memorize in the next three weeks?"

"You can do it, Tilda. I'll help you," Bobby told her, squeezing her fingers.

"Thanks! I can use all the help I can get!"

Their shift went quietly and they learned more about Chaxite than they ever hoped to. Getting home that evening, after dinner and a hot shower, Matilda sat down with her regulations. Bobby came in and sat across from her, gazing at her intently.

"What?" She felt flustered and confused by his look.

"We need to decide something, Tilda. When do we want to get married? There is an actual minister here, we could have a church wedding."

"I really can't think about it until training is over."

"What will be the next excuse, Matilda? We could have married on the ship, but you didn't want to. Do you even want to marry me?" His eyes filled with angry tears which he blinked away.

She took his hand in hers. "Yes, Bobby, I do want to marry you. I love you. But I want to be able to enjoy our wedding and our time together afterwards and until I get through this training, I just can't. We can get married right after as a celebration, okay?"

He smiled weakly. "Alright, I guess I can wait. I'm holding you to this, Matilda DuLac." He reached for her rule book. "Here, let me have that, I'll quiz you."

"I do love you, Bobby." They spent the next three hours studying the rules until both of them knew them by heart.

Gone But Not Forgotten - Part 11

Matilda woke on a morning six weeks later and realized not only was it her seventeenth birthday, but it was her last day on Saltulle. Her family was headed for a mining colony on Solaris in the Zapata system. She was being sent to a mining colony on Parisium and Bobby was going with her.

After three years, if she worked hard enough, she would be eligible for transfer to officer's training. That program alone took an additional three years and the most she could hope for was Commander on a mining vessel. If she were extremely lucky, eventually she would be given a Captaincy, but she doubted it. In the entire three centuries of its existence, there had been three female captains in the Mining Guild.

She dressed quickly, anxious to spend time with her family. Solaris was a long way from Parisium and she did not foresee any chance for visits. She had Bobby, that would have to suffice.

When she got to the kitchen, there was a flurry of activity. A banner across the doorway said, "Happy Birthday, Tilda!" This time her sisters had enough time to finish it and had liberally decorated it with oblique balloons and slightly psychotic clowns.

Her mother had fixed a special breakfast to which Bobby had been invited. He was sitting, tipped back in his chair, talking to her father. He stood when she walked in. His kiss was carefully platonic, although their relationship had progressed to the next level. Matilda suspected her father knew she and Bobby were lovers, but he said nothing. He liked Bobby, who was steady and reliable. They had talked about marriage, but never formalized it, leaving it nebulous. For some reason, she never felt quite as strongly about their relationship as he did.

"Happy Birthday, Tilda," he said softly, kissing her again.

"Look what we got you!" Her sisters chorused, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her to the table. A small stack of presents were by her plate. The largest was from her parents. It was about 11" x 10" and flat. It contained a holographic photo frame loaded with pictures of her family from her parents' wedding to their last big event, Amie's seventh birthday.

All of them were clustered around Amie at the end of the table as she blew out candles. Behind and to the left was Wil, seen in profile, a sad smile on his full lips. Matilda paused, gazing at the photo, for he had not been looking at Amie, but at her. She lingered over the photo for a moment, then set the frame aside to look at her other presents.

The girls had made her cards and gifts. From Amie, she had a bracelet made of stones and chunks of metal she had found lying around. Amie had no way of knowing that those scraps were worth a small fortune anywhere but Saltulle. Brigette's gift was two fold. First an autograph book all of them had signed. It also contained messages from everyone she had been able to charm in to sighing it, which was virtually everyone in the town. The other half of her gift was a diary.

"That's so you can write down all the exciting things that happen to you," Brigette said proudly.

"Thanks, girls," she hugged each of them. "This is the best birthday ever."

Bobby smiled secretively. "I'll give you mine later after we get on board the ship."

Surprised and curious, she gave him a long, appraising look.