He Knows If You’ve Been Bad or Good

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More Monday Flash Fiction (Amazed I got it done, I actually lost the original manuscript of this!)

He Knows If You’ve Been Bad or Good

By Jeff Baker

 

Eddie pulled the boat up to the dock.

“About time!” Gene said, his glowering red face matching his red Santa Claus suit. “Hurry up and tie that thing to the dock. Did you bring any clothes?”

“Just mine,” Eddie said. Gene was six-three, Eddie was five-eight. The clothes wouldn’t fit. Eddie was trying not to laugh.

“One ‘Ho-Ho-Ho,’ and I’ll dump you in the lake,” Gene said.

“You know, I don’t get it,” Eddie said as he tied the boat to the dock. “Gwen’s brother had this place stocked with all kinds of stuff, canned goods, bottled water, liquor…”

“And several hundred thousand in cash remember?” Gene said.

“Can’t forget that!” Eddie said. “How much is left anyway?”

“A couple of thousand,” Gene said.

“Anyway, he has all that stuff here and the only clothes he saves are long johns and a Santa suit.”

“And the long johns are too hot, my suit I had on when I dumped the boat shrank and my other clothes are at the bottom of the drink,” Gene said. “You got your key?”

“Always,” Gene said, tapping the chain around his neck. They’d been meeting for three years while Gwen’s brother was in the clink, using their keys to unlock the two padlocks they’d put on the steel box in the back room. Taking small amounts of the money and spending it discreetly so as not to arouse suspicion. The cops didn’t know about the cabin.

Eddie grabbed a beer from the cabin’s fridge. They were both anxious to get at the last of the loot. They pulled the cover off the box and after a few fumbling moments unlocked the padlocks and opened the lid.

There was a cough behind them. They turned their heads.

In the door stood a man flashing a badge and a gun.

“Detective Frederick Sebastian,” the man said. “Hands up. We’ve been tracking you folks for months.”

As the detective led them into the waiting police boat, Gene asked how they found them.

“Following you after we found out you two were spreading that money,” the detective said. “It did take us a bit.”

“But how did you know that was the money Gwen’s brother stole?” Eddie asked.

“Stole?” Sebastian laughed as the other officer started the boat’s engine. “He’s not in prison for stealing; he’s in prison for counterfeiting!”

As the boat roared off, Officer Sebastian was humming “Here Comes Santa Claus.”

 

—end—

 

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Monday Flash Fiction

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The Egg and We

By Jeff Baker

 

The girl in the egg suit looked them. The two men stood and stared at her. The wall she was sitting on and the house behind her hadn’t been there a moment before.

“You have to answer the riddle before you can pass!” The egg-girl was cheery and bright.

“Does this have something to do with the scavenger hunt?” Charlie asked.

“Don’t think so,” Skip said, looking around warily. The landscape had changed. Even the grass and the dirt road somehow looked old and abandoned.

“The riddle,” the egg-girl said leaning forward.

“You always get me involved in weird stuff, Skip,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but this is way too weird,” Skip said, staring at the egg-girl who was grinning broadly, showing glistening teeth. “Hey, what’s this about a riddle?”

“All who come this way are asked the riddle,” she said. “Those who answer correctly will continue on from where they were. Those who don’t must wander out there.”

The egg-girl pointed at a vast, empty-looking field of stubble and brush. Charlie felt cold. Skip swallowed hard and grabbed Charlie’s hand.

“If we’re screwed, I’m glad I’m with you,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, me too.” Skip said. He’d heard stories of people accidentally walking the wrong way into other worlds. The word ‘widdershins’ went through his head.

“May as well get this over with,” Charlie said.

“What’s the riddle?” Skip asked.

The egg-girl’s eyes were gleaming, her teeth sharp.

“How does an egg walk across the road?” she asked.

Charlie opened his mouth; he was going to say something goofy, like ‘sunny side up,’ or ‘very carefully.’ Skip elbowed him and glared. They’d been together about three years; Skip figured he could apologize later.

“I know,” Skip said. “Inside the chicken.”

The egg-girl frowned. She looked for a moment like she was going to pout because she hadn’t gotten her way.

“Correct,” she said in a dull voice, a ‘yes, Mommy, I’m going to clean my room now’ voice. She and the wall were suddenly gone. The path they were standing on was the one they’d been on before.

“Sorry,” Skip said. “I thought you were going to…”

“It’s okay,” Charlie said. “As long as we get out of that, whatever it was.” He took a deep breath and kissed Skip. They lingered for a moment. Then Charlie pulled a list from his pocket.

“We going to finish the scavenger hunt?” Skip asked.

“Sure!” Charlie said, glancing at the list. “Let’s see, we need an advertisement from Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Skip asked as they walked on. “It’s June!”

“Early Christmas-in-July. Hey, why did that chicken cross the road, anyway?”

“We could go back and ask that egg-girl,” Skip said.

“No thanks,” Charlie said, grinning.

 

—end—

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Monday Flash Fiction

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Here’s something for Monday, June 6, 2016.

Bus Ride to Somewhere

By Jeff Baker

 

Dear Jake:

Well, I’m on the bus, on my way home. Seems these three-day weekends never last long enough, do they?  I am so tempted to quit my job and move back there with you! Even with e-mail and everything seventy-five miles is a long way, especially when I don’t drive.

Thanks so much for everything, and I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, huh? I could e-mail this, but sometimes the old stamp-and-envelope mail seems so romantic.

Love, always

Andy

P.S.: I didn’t even hear you get out of bed this morning. Oh, and after I got out of the handcuffs I took ‘em with me. They’ll be waiting for you up at my place. (Not sure about the key!)

—A.

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Monday Flash Fiction (On Wednesday)

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Something for the Monday Flash Fiction page. A 500 word (or less) story to go with the picture.

 

Entr’acte

By Jeff Baker

 

“Excuse me,” Kent said. “I think you dropped these.”

“Oh, thanks,” Danny said. “Hey, you want one?”

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“Good. I keep trying to quit, but, but…” Danny shook his head and held up the script.  “Look, are you people sure about this? I mean this dialogue is really lame.”

“Yeah,” Kent said. “We’re really going to talk like this?”

“Yes you are,” said the man behind the podium.

“And we fall in love?” Danny asked.

“Madly,” the man said.

“When?” Kent asked.

“About twenty-six years from now,” the man said. “When you both are about twenty-five.”

“Will we live happily ever after?” Danny asked.

“For about thirty-two years,” the man said.

“Oh,” Kent said. “Is it the smoking?”

“I can’t say,” the man said. “That’s in another part of your script. You just get to preview a couple of pages. And anyway, it’s about time for you two to start your lives.”

“The birth canal thing?” Danny said, wrinkling his nose.

The man behind the podium nodded.

“Your lines will come naturally to you after your birth,” the man said. “And after you meet, you both will be on the same page.”

“Well,” Danny said, squeezing Kent’s hand. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Kent grinned and squeezed back.

There was a brilliant white light…

 

—end—

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The Latest

Here’s the latest anthology appearance, including my story “Through The Forest-Green Metalic Painted Door.”QueerSF

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With Sherlock Holmes

Stumbled across the Amazon listing for issue # 8 of “Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine,” which includes my story “Hit One Out Of The Park” and displays my name on the cover! I knew I was in the issue but I wasn’t expecting it this soon! My contributor’s copies appeared in the mail today. Am pleased as all get-out! SHMM usually looks good (I’ve subscribed since issue #1, but seeing my name on the cover is a blast! Plus, it’s my first fiction in a print magazine! And I will be writing a full-blown essay on the writing of this historical (hysterical?) mystery for SleuthSayers. Now I’m going to sit and gawk at my cover!

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Of Time And Johnny Damon

(I wrote this poem during another late October World Series. Seems appropriate for today.)

Of Time And Johnny Damon
by Jeff Baker

It is October Thirty-First, Two-Thousand-And-Nine
I am sprawled on my Brother’s couch watching the World Series
(The one where Johnny Damon stole second base
and seeing third base unattended, stole it as well)
We are munching Halloween candy from a pumpkin-shaped bowl
And then I notice that it’s Eleven O’Clock
Central Daylight Time. And I realize that in that moment
We are sitting there in October watching a game being played in November.
And there’s an eerieness to this that goes beyond
kids begging for candy dressed as ghosts and witches
and the fact that it’s all because of time zones and television.
An hour later November comes to Missouri
And after that Daylight Savings Time vanishes
Becoming a darkened Jack ‘O Lantern
On a cosmic front porch somewhere.
The next night, we watch the next game
the ending taking place at the same time, around Eleven.
Innings and time zones slicing together.

—end—

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Bouchercon 2012, or The Science-Fiction Writer Who Wouldn’t Fly

Just got back from my first ever trip to Bouchercon, the Mystery Writers of America’s annual convention. It’s THE big gathering of writers, editors, fans and others associated with the mystery/crime genre, held this year October 4th through the 7th  in Cleveland, Ohio. I’ve wanted to go for several years and after a couple of years of my plans getting waylaid we managed to get convention, hotel and plane reservations for the weekend. The plane part was the one catch, as I am a notorious non-flier. Nonetheless we got on an early-morning flight out of Wichita to Cleveland with a connection to Huston. I’ve been in towns that were smaller than the Huston Airport, and which didn’t have train service anymore (the airport does!) We made it to Cleveland by early afternoon thursday and spent that afternoon and evening crashing in the hotel. My first time in Cleveland and the city made a seriously good impression. Our hotel was the Hampton Inn Cleveland Downtown on 9th street, just across from an old stone cathedral. All in all a wonderful city full of hospitality. We told our cab driver what a beautiful city it was and he said “You picked a good day to come here. No snow.”

Friday morning, having slept in, I made it to the hotel the convention was at (Cleveland Marriott Renaissance) around noon, got my nametag and program and a well-stuffed goodie bag and started nosing around the convention, like a lot of people walking around staring at people’s nametags looking for somebody I knew. A few minutes later, I found one: James Lincoln Warren, onetime blogger at the late, lamented Criminal Brief site and a fine author. We chatted for a few minutes and I promised I’d be at his panel discussion about Rex Stout and the influence of the Nero Wolfe mysteries. The bulk of the official activity at Bouchercon is the panel discussions, about 70 this time, on subjects ranging from the popularity of young adult mysteries to such concerns as setting, dialog and creating believable protagonists. Titles for the panels included “Nuggets of Mystery” (Short-stories) and “What a Friend We Have In Rockford” (Private Eyes.) I made my way upstairs to the Bookroom where several dealers had set up tables full of books and related items for sale and got my second nice surprise when I ran into John M. Floyd, another author I’d been communicating with online for years and we fell into chatting like old friends. He’d just gotten in town, and was looking for the room his panel was going to be in. We talked about stories/hotels/life experience used in writing, ect. John said Woman’s World (where he’s had many stories published) has been “very good to me.” We laughed (not for the first time) when I told him that when I bought Woman’s World at the grocery store I would point to his story and tell the cashier “I know this guy!”  All in all a wonderful few minutes that made the whole thing worth it. I attended that panel on Rex Stout and was able to tell Linda Landrigan, the Editor of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine that writing my entry for the Wolfe Pack’s Novella Contest a few years ago had helped me get through a really rotten year back in ’07.

I attended the panel John Floyd was on; “Nuggets of Mystery” about the short mystery story. John joked with me beforehand that the panelists really hadn’t gotten together beforehand and he really wasn’t sure how they were going to discuss the subject but it all came off perfectly. John, Barb Goffman, Shelley Costa, Terrie Farley Moran, Ellery Queen Editor Janet Hutchings and panel moderator Laura Curtis interacted with the audience and each other discussing the subject with passion and in-depth knowledge. Afterwards I spoke to John again and met Terrie (who I’ve spoken with on Facebook) and we all fell in like old friends, a phenomenon I’ve heard of happening at conventions among people who don’t actually see each other except once a year or so but keep in touch long-distance the rest of the time. Add to that my meeting one of the folks from Criminal Element and discussing their upcoming anthology (which I plan to submit to!) made it a perfect afternoon. The whole thing wiped out all the delayed “Midlife Crisis” I was going through about balancing my full-time day job with my chosen writing career.

Saturday I ambled down the street to the convention and just bummed around the halls listening to snatches of conversations about books in progress or short stories sold. Got around to attending a few panels and met a few more people whose names I’d known for years like the witty Otto Penzler, anthologist of Mysterious Press and owner of New York’s Mysterious Bookshop. In the Bookroom I found myself looking for a line for a signing and found myself near the front of the line for the signing for Convention Guest of Honor Mary Higgins Clark. The lady in line in front of me had several issues of the 1990’s Mary Higgins Clark Mystery Magazine for her to sign. She laughed and said “we had such fun doing this!” Meeting her and having her sign the book I had was a wonderful experience, she couldn’t have been nicer or more gracious. And it was great to hear her talk about her magazine which was one of the things that got me started writing mystery stories in the first place. After that I wandered out of the hotel and walked down the street a block to gawk at Lake Erie and feel the wind coming in from what is really an inland sea, and I got to see Progressive Field (the baseball stadium) as well. Returning to the convention I saw the Guest of Honor interview for Elizabeth George and then the one for Mary Higgins Clark conducted by her daughter Carol Higgins Clark. Mary was charming and very sweet and funny. Her gift for storytelling isn’t limited to the printed page. She reminiced about being an early member of MWA and how in those years you could fit everybody at just two tables, and now they had 1500 people there. That was a nice way to end this so I wandered out of the hotel and went back down the street to our room at the Hampton Inn. I stopped to take a few pictures of the cathedral across the street which dated back to the 1840’s and I wondered about what this street was like when it was new. Spent that night dozing and watching t.v. in our 2nd story room, and looking out the window at the hotel entrance beneath us, watching the three or four 20-something guys working as valets, watching them park customers cars and shoot the breeze among themselves, me wondering what their lives were like.

As they say, there’s a story in there.

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Of Crickets and Other Things

August 12, 2012

Lots of crickets heard around Wichita in summer. I have at least one story plotted out that wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for the crickets, and a poem as well. Putting off has been the problem with me lately, I have a story with a submission deadline of the end of next month and have yet to make much headway on the actual writing of the thing. Plotting it out is another matter, I have that done already.  When it comes to stories, I have to plot them out and have some idea where I’m going or it goes nowhere. I know this from bitter (or at least unsweetened) experience. Last year I started a story aimed for an anthology, had a boffo idea but no ending. The deadline approached and I had a lot of words but no real plot and no ending. The story is on my “to be finished someday” pile. The anthology, without me, got published to some nice reviews. Which brings me to the poem and the crickets. This poem whanged into my head about six (!!!) years ago, pretty well fully-formed when I was laying around listening to the crickets chirp away.

The Last Cricket   by Jeff Baker

I know you. I know your song.

Last one sitting there at the dance

Invited but alone

Nonetheless, making your plaintive noise

In the auditorium of Autumn.

I have been there too in a different life

And I hear you

By yourself

Singing

As the lights are turned off

And the doors shut

All of the others paired off and gone

You the defiant, desperate

Welcome of winter.

 

 

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Wails Of August

August 8, 2012

Real surprise—I commented on someone else’s blog and found a link to this one that I didn’t think I had managed to post over a year ago!  Since then, I’ve slacked off on all the writing I’m supposed to be doing, but I managed to start up again a week or so ago and am trying to be reasonably regular with it (like, you know, daily!?!). For the record, I’ve just finished one story that I’d been piddling around on for a month or so and am starting one aimed at a theme anthology with a deadline of Sept. 30. I’ll try and keep any interested parties appraised of my progress here. I’ll also take advice from the great Henry Kuttner and not actually discuss the stories in progress in favor of actually writing them. And now, I can out with news: My mystery story “Hit One Out Of The Park” will be published in “Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine” issue #8, and I’ll have a corresponding column in SleuthSayers at that time giving all the gory details of creation, midwifery, ect. at around the same time. This will be my first short story for pay in a print magazine. (!!!) For the record, my first published mystery short-story for which I was renumerated is “The Problem of CellA307” in the online “Over My Dead Body” issue June 8, 2011.

So, that’s what results from being productive! Something I have to get to tonight, in fact!

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