I have it.
But to quote Tricky Dick: “I am not a crook!” (you know you put up two “peace” signs and said it like him).
I am guilty of wanting the flash before substance, but I draw the line which is what real criminals don’t do.
The quick buck.
So risky, yet wrong on so many levels.
I really hate people who prey on others (especially having been played before). Thieves are the lowest.
In my crazy Las Vegas days, I once rented out one of the rooms of my condominium to a very personable lad who paid his rent in meat.
Meat.
His 250.00 rent (incl. utilities) was covered many times over as we not only had a full refrigerator, but a large box freezer, both stuffed full of every type of meat you can name.
I never asked where the meat came from, but he did work as a manager for the Safeway grocery store chain.
Did we have some barbecues.
I don’t remember ever using my oven.
Speaking of crime and criminal minds, check out this short-short story from my book.
Oddly enough, it is titled Criminal and it is set in the lovely country of Canada.
The preface for the “criminal” emotion is from my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!
C
A lot of awesome emotions under “C” and I moved the location to Canada, one of my favorite places to visit.
On one particular salmon fishing trip there, my father, sister, and I were enjoying a great day of drinking. Not so much on the fishing part of the fishing trip.
After a case or so of LaBatt’s Blue and a liter of Dr. McGillicuddy’s 110-proof Peach Schnapps, we were ready to start drinking some more. At least that was the plan—this is where the story becomes a little fuzzy.
I woke up at about 2 am (I think) and the first thing I noticed was my eyes were wide open but I could not see a thing. Only darkness.
Was I blind?
I turned my baseball cap around and my sight was miraculously restored.
The next thing assaulting my senses was the horrendous smell of shit. As I propped my throbbing head up on one elbow, I reached back to rub my aching spine which was partially resting on a bed of pine cones. As I rubbed, my fingers found the slimy stench beginning on the top of my pants. Oh my God, I crapped myself!
This was not good. Pan to me pounding on my sisters’ cabin. Her lover got up and helped me to the washroom cabin.
“I’m a senior citizen, I shat myself,” I shouted as she sprayed me off with a hose.
After cleaning me up, she threw me a towel and I kept yelling my thanks as she returned to her cabin.
I toweled off, and as I peeled off my soaked but clean clothes, I saw that there was no evidence whatsoever of any excrement inside my pants.
I have never been so proud to have gotten blind drunk and passed out in a big pile of bearshit in my entire life.
Criminal
Mark Diaz
The hulking figure stealthily crossed the cinnamon-red Spanish tile, approached the door, and froze.
“Hands in the air! Do it NOW!” The unmistakable click of the Glock 22 .40 Cal pierced the black silence as one of the fifteen live rounds readied for firing. The handgun was issued to Inspector Ron Lewis of the local police. It had never been fired in its five-year career on the force.
“Be cool, be cool. See I’m putting my hands….”
A swift strike of the nightstick cracked one of the large man’s ribs and forced him to his hands and knees. The man gasped, fought unconsciousness, lost, and fell to the carpeted floor in a thud.
The house looked like a drug dealer lived there. Talk about excess. In the foyer, a marbled koi pond meandered through the Great Room to the pool outside. Its serpentine route wound lazily past two twin white baby grand Akai pianos on its way to a majestic two-story waterfall. This provided a refreshing twenty-five foot drop for the fat carp and their fellow nishikigoi. The pond then circled the indoor gym, sauna, and steam room, before rejoining the main pond in the home theater. On top of a marble bar was $476,878 neatly stacked. On one of the covered pool tables sat several scales of various sizes. Everything was coated with a fine white powder, making Ron think of what a nuclear fallout residue must look like. On another pool table, large empty Pyrex lab flasks sat waiting for their turn as the apparatus in the center of the room belched smoke and sweet ether. Alternating with the distinctive odor of cat-urine which all meth labs produce, Ron just shook his head as the three overhead fans drew the smoke up to within the top ten feet of the ceiling, lurking there in an ominous, poisonous cloud.
Ron looked around, absorbing it all. This was the kind of money he had always dreamed of when he was growing up. Beautiful house, pool, three foreign cars parked in the garage.
Oh well, he mused……He heard a knock at the door.
Special Constable Bill Shulte arrived on the scene and jostled the dark man on the front porch to his feet. He roughly cuffed him, enjoying every minute of it.
Bill and Ron were childhood friends who were now growing up together in
their respective police careers.
“Thanks for coming by Billy. I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot more than one, mate. Bill shoved the suspect’s face into the door. Who the hell is this guy?”
“Beats me. Caught him breaking into my house.”
******
Stay well.
