Short Flights of Imagination

By C. Rea Jordan

A collection of short stories emerging from the imagination or wishful thinking of the author. Enjoy simple, one or two page stories, in addition to the longer story of young boys growing up in southern Illinois during the coal mining years. Also enjoy the mystery and intrigue of murder in the gay bars of San Francisco and Angola State Prison where capital punishment awaits Erasmus Jefferson Williams in form of the electric chair, aka Old Smokey. This eclectic collection has at least one thing in common: skillful story telling by a master.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Rea Jordan
• Release date: Jan 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9780988715707

C. Rea Jordan

C. Rea has been a pilot, a diver, a musician, a magician, a husband, a father, a procrastinator, a confidant, an entrepreneur, a business executive, a chemist, a jackass, a philosopher, as well as affluent and destitute. Other than an aspiring writer, he has other satisfying accomplishments: He has developed several instruments or devices for ophthalmic surgery and is the inventor\developer of the first commercially available intraocular lens for canine cataract surgery. And, more importantly --- He has a loving wife, Betty, 57 years or so (Dec. 23, 1955), two fine sons, a wonderful daughter, three granddaughters and three grandsons. C. Rea and Betty live in Folsom, California

Book preview

Short Flights of Imagination

A Collection of Short Fictional Stories

C. Rea Jordan

Copyright © 2012 by C. Rea Jordan

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9887157-0-7

Creation Publishing

375 Willowood Way

Folsom, CA 95630

This book is dedicated to my family who patiently and laboriously listened to the early beginnings of most of these stories. Their pedantic encouragement and ability to listen without showing pain or stress kept me putting more words to paper.

SHORT FLIGHTS OF IMAGINATION is a trademark of Creation Publishing Company.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. Address requests for permission to make copies of Creation Publishing Company material to Permissions, Creation Publishing Company, 375 Willowood Way, Folsom, CA 95630.

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Easy Money

In an era of creative accounting and insider trading, is a little lie and a bit of cheating really criminal. Perhaps, it’s just a question of ethics—or just a matter of degree.

The cookie is fifty cents. Here is your change. Fifty cents —two quarters.

Huh? No. I gave you a ten. You gave me change for a one. Little red-cheeked Tommy Brenner sticks out his bottom lip. If looks were lasers, he would’ve burned holes in her face.

No. You are mistaken, the clerk replies with a condescending smile, you gave me a one. I’m sure. I put it right here in the register and handed you fifty cents change for the one. The clerk speaks hesitatingly and her eyes blink with every word.

No, ma’am. I’m sure it was a ten dollar bill. It was the only money I had. My grandma gave it to me this morning for my birthday. I gave you my ten dollar bill. I swear. I can prove it! Grandma wrote on the ten. It says, Happy Birthday Tommy."

The clerk opens the register and removes the topmost ten dollar bill. She turns to catch the sunlight from the front windows and examines the ten dollar bill. Sure enough, there it is scrawled in black ink, Happy Birthday Tommy. With astonished disbelief, the clerk stares at the ten dollar bill and turns her eyes to Tommy in slow motion.

See! I told you. You tried to cheat me, you bitch. Tommy throws the cookie on the counter and snatches the ten dollar bill from her hand. I ain’t buying nuthin’ in this store. He shoves the front door open and rushes out of the store.

Tommy pedals his candy apple red, four-speed bicycle across the street to the VFW lot waving the ten-dollar bill high in the air. Corky Evans, his buddy, watches wide-eyed as Tommy approaches announcing his success.

The boys are hyper and excited like any two twelve year olds. Tommy has a mouth that spews gutter talk and his lip curls upward from the corner of his mouth when he plays the tough guy role. Compared to Tommy’s pre-pubescent fat, Corky is a striking contrast—rail thin, red hair, and a country drawl.

Their plan is to buy that motorized skateboard in Appino’s Hardware Store. The price is just fifty dollars. Tommy has already saved up fifteen dollars and Corky has five dollars from selling his El Primo Power Sling Shot. Together, they have twenty dollars and now with the ten from the convenience store, they have thirty bucks—just twenty dollars away from the motorized skateboard.

Here, Corky, you hold all the money. Here’s my fifteen and the ten I just scammed. Add this to your five and after two more jobs, we are getting that hot skateboard.

Corky takes the money, wads the bills and stuffs them into his front pocket.

All right, dude comes simultaneously from both mouths along with a big high five.

Okay, Tommy. The 7-11 over on North Circle Street should be good for another ten dollars, right? Corky rubs his hands together and makes snorting noises from his nose.

Whoa there, dude. Next job is yours, Tommy says pushing his index finger into Corky’s chest.

Oh, man, I don’t know how to do the scam, Tommy. You do it, okay? Corky tapped Tommy on the shoulder with a soft fist.

No way, Jose. You gotta’ do it. I’ll show you the trick. Okay, we go over to North Circle and I go in and buy a popsicle with this ten dollar bill that says, Happy Birthday Tommy. I get the change and meet you in the bank parking lot across from the 7-11. We wait, maybe ‘bout twenty minutes and you go in and buy a fifty cent cookie, okay? Knock something over—just as you hand the clerk your one dollar bill—maybe a counter display or just push something off the counter—on the clerk’s side. You got it?

I don’t think so, Tommy. If the clerk takes the one dollar bill—

The clerk will put the bill into the register first. They always put the money in the register before giving change.

Yeah but—, Corky bit his lip and stammered, wha’, ah, what if—?

No what if, dude. It is a sure deal. Works every time.

And what do I do next, Tommy.

Easy. You get all heated up and pissed off that you gave the clerk a ten. You tell the grandma story. Sure as hell, he will look in the drawer. And, Corky, my man, guess what? He finds Grandma’s ten just like you explained to him.

Corky jumps on the handlebars of Tommy’s fancy bicycle and they are off to North Circle Street. In the parking lot of the town bank, Tommy runs through the scam again to be sure Corky has all the details correct.

I’m going to go on over to the 7-11 now, Corky. You hang out until you see me come out and ride my bike down North Circle Street.

Tommy jumps on his bicycle and rides over parking his bike next to one of the parked cars close to the door. Once inside, Tommy walks around the store and notices one other customer putting groceries into a shopping cart. Tommy thinks about waiting until the customer had left the store but decides to go ahead with the scam. He walks up to the counter and buys two candy bars handing the clerk the ten dollar bill.

That will be sixty cents, young man and here is your change, five and four ones and forty pieces of silver. Don’t throw those candy wrappers in the parking lot, okay?

Tommy leaves the store, jumps on his bike and heads back over to the bank parking lot. Corky is sitting behind an advertising billboard and jumps up as Tommy approaches.

Okay, dude, Tommy instructs, go get our ten dollars back.

Lemme’ ride your bike Tommy, Corky begs.

Okay. Hurry up and don’t lose our money.

Corky drops the bike in the 7-11 parking lot. He’s nervous and forgets to put the kickstand down. He thinks how mad Tommy will be if he scratches that fancy, red bicycle. He pushes open the front door and walks toward the back of the store. Back at the milk counter, he stands and stares at all the variety of milk and nervous sweat runs down his back. He thinks about buying a carton of cold milk but Tommy told him to buy a cookie or maybe a candy bar. Tommy would get real mad if the showed up with a quart of milk.

Corky takes a one dollar bill from his pocket and heads toward the front counter. Another customer is already there paying for cigarettes. Corky steps up next to the man and reaches in front to pick up a candy bar. He saw the gun. The store is being robbed right in front of him in broad daylight.

The man grabs the candy bar and the dollar away from Corky and yells, Shut up, kid! You got more money? Give me all the money—in your pockets, too. The robber adds Corky’s money to the bills he had taken from the register. He points the gun at the clerk and yells, Keep your mouth shut. You call the police and I’ll come back and blow your head off. You, kid! Get your ass on the floor and don’t move unless you want a bullet. You hear?

The robber runs out the door into a waiting car with the motor running. As the car spins out of the parking lot, Corky watches as the front and then the back tires steam roller Tommy’s fancy red bicycle.

Corky sat in the store until the police came. He spent the time thinking of what he would say to Tommy.

Coal Dust

The confluence of the mighty Mississippi and the opulent Ohio River liken Southern Illinois to the Nile Valley. Southern Illinois is called Little Egypt and was once a center of the coal industry.

The plate glass window of Jim Boy’s Tavern and Pool Hall is too dirty to be called dirty. The layered grime has blocked the sun for years.

Hey, Harlan, you know if Sesser #4 is gonna’ be hiring. I heard over at VFW that they wuz' gonna’ start up some long walls, Tony Ranciglio mumbles as he chugs on his two-hour old, warm beer.

The coal mines of