Interludes

By Marc Twine

A collection of short stories—drama, comedy and historical fiction—designed for people with limited time.
Perfect for coffee breaks, lunch breaks or for those just needing a break from their routine!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marc Twine
• Release date: Dec 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310904523

Marc Twine

Retired Critical Care nurse

Book preview

Interludes

by Marc Twine

Copyright 2014 Marc Twine

Smashwords Edition

About This Collection

Welcome!

Here you will find some offerings to provide brief respite in your busy lives,

  suitable for coffee breaks, abbreviated lunches or those rare moments when you have a minute to spare.

I hope you enjoy the tales.

Marc

Table of Contents

Ach Du Lieber

Besame Mucho

Digital Craps

Cry Havoc

Light My Fire

Mother's Days

Need, Want, Greed

One Last Thought

The Candyman

The Eyes Have It

The Messenger

Two Rivers Ran Through It

When The Postman Rings

You Take My Breath Away

For King and Country

Butterflies Are Free

Number Please ?

If You Live Long Enough

Stickball

Take A Number

Thing Go Better With Coke

Tom's Thumbs

Tricks not Treats

Waltzing Matilda

About the Author

Ach, Du Lieber !

Augustine Gus Himmel had lived in the Texas Hill Country for his entire life. A third- generation Texan, he called Fredericksburg his home as did many descendants of the original German immigrants that settled in the region.

Gus inherited the family business, originally started by his grandmother many years before. Of course it was called: Oma's. Somewhat predictably, it specialized in handmade smoked sausage. Tradition has value, after all.

Germans loved their wurst and it happened that non-Germans did too. All admitted that Gus made the best of the wurst. His reputation was well-established: a clean, modern operation that created a variety of seasonably appropriate sausages, hand-crafted and reasonably priced. Why he even had a radio program: Grilling with Gus. It achieved some notoriety among local aficionados.

Fredericksburg, together with the surrounding hamlets of Mason City, Comfort and Johnson City were primarily agricultural communities. Over time, each grew and prospered. Fredericksburg gradually assumed the dominant commercial position among the group. Its schnitzel and sausage, cabbage rolls and rouladen, hasenpfeffer and sauerbraten framed the culinary landscape. Especially Oma's sausage.

Producing sausage is truly a hands-on process. Choosing the appropriate cuts of meat, adding just the right blend of seasonings, enclosing the result in animal casings -- all of this was an art form. Smoking the meats required time: long periods of minimal heat and maximum smoke. The aroma of oak, hickory, mesquite or apple wood often escaped from the closed container. A given batch might need 5-7 days of slow percolation until the links achieved their tongue-pleasing perfection. This worked out well for Gus. After all, the bulk of his business occurred on weekends when tourists were in abundance. Gus had patience. The remainder of the week allowed him to perfect his recipes, explore new ones and, of course, record Grilling with Gus.

*****

Augustine was in a quandary. His success was bedeviling him. He was featured in national food magazines, especially those catering to the gourmand persuasion. His business was reaching the bursting point: he had to employ three production workers and a weekend sales clerk. The mail-order business had grown to a point where two employees were needed for order fulfillment alone.  His smoker, now an enormous 2000sq. ft. encasement, was refilled daily, but the cold storage locker was regularly emptied as his mail-order base grew.

*****

.Looking back, he remembered when it began.

His nephew Heidrich was a good boy, a student at the University of Texas, Austin.  While he pursued a career in healthcare, he had settled for a part-time job as caretaker at the Hillcrest Funeral Home. It was, to say the least, boring. But he needed the money.

Uncle Gus, he pleaded, Just keep an eye on the mortuary on Saturday nights. He wanted to party on 6th street with his college counterparts. Old people don't seem to die on weekends. What do you say?

Sure, Gus replied, I've got some time on my hands. Too much time.

The Ganz family had lived in the Hill Country for generations. They were among the original settlers. All that remained of their lineage were the brothers and sisters: Evita, 96; Eric, 95; Gunther, 97; Suzanna, 93. They resided at the Vista Village nursing home in Comfort. While generally healthy for their advanced years, time was taking its toll.

They were wealthy by local standards. Long ago they executed a Tontine:  an agreement whereby each survivor inherited the wealth of his or her predecessor upon their respective deaths. Such agreements had been declared illegal by the Texas courts. But hell, the Ganz progeny were around long before there were effective courts in Texas. And so it began

*****

Gus grew increasingly desperate: for two years drought had plagued the state of Texas.  Cattlemen had reduced their herds and pork producers had cut back production as grain prices sky-rocketed. For a time, local hunters augmented his meager supplies with deer, squirrel and feral hogs. But, it just wasn't enough. The advertisement in the Austin Statesman read:

For a limited time, Gus's Best wieners are available.

Hand-crafted, flash frozen and delivered to your door.

These are unique tube steaks: Order now while supplies last.

 Hugely popular, they were said to be better than Oscar Mayer, Nathan's Famous or Hebrew National brands. The best taste, they said, Succulent. The epitome of the sausage art. Sold out for the season, Gus basked in the glow of his success.

*****

A Tontine is a powerful inheritance tool. Mark Heidelberg learned about his heritage online. Ancestry.com  listed his past. He was a Graf on his mother's side of the family tree. And there was money, money to be had. The last of the surviving Grafs had died. What the hell?  he thought, It's all about money.

 In order to challenge the tontine, Mark needed DNA. It could establish his generational rights. The court order allowed for the exhumation of Eric Graf...a man whom he'd never met. The medical examiner pried open the casket holding the man's musty remains:

Empty, he said. Sand bags took the place of the body of the deceased. The sheriff supervised the remaining exhumations. All Graf caskets were empty.

*****

He was famous. He was hopeless. Now they knew how he had succeeded.

 It was all so simple! Gus thought

As the hydraulic compactor closed in upon him, he exclaimed: Auf wiedersehen!

Soon his earthly remains resembled his famous wiener. Flavor in every bite.

~~~

Besamé Mucho

By most accounts, Veronica Kalin, (pronounced Kay-lin), had lived a privileged life. The daughter of a state department employee, she had traveled the world with her father. He served as a cultural attaché in many of the world’s capitals: Tokyo, Madrid, Jakarta, Singapore, Berlin, Paris, Beirut and Tel Aviv. Rumor had it that he actually served as station chief for the CIA throughout his thirty year career, but that was never proven. And he, Kevin Kalin, wouldn’t confirm or deny the rumors.

Veronica, a grown woman now, was drop-dead gorgeous. Her flowing raven-colored hair cascaded to her lower back. When draped across her shoulders, it framed a high-boned aristocratic face that featured a pair of bottomless blue-green eyes, pouty bee-stung coral lips and a radiant smile. Alabaster skin…her figure was highlighted by sensuous contours that produced a jaw-dropping effect on the men (and some women) who caught a view of it. She was accomplished and talented. Fluent in Spanish, German, Portuguese and Japanese, she moved with ease and grace across the world’s diplomatic landscape. Her master’s degree in fine arts from Vassar College prompted her to choose a career buying and selling artworks from across the globe.

Veronica had other talents as well. While an undergraduate, she had mastered various parlor tricks. For example: she could pop a maraschino cherry into her mouth, roll it around with her tongue and…presto!...out it would emerge with a knot tied in the stem. Or, she could tilt her head back, take a cocktail stir-stick and, with great fanfare, twirl it like a baton with her tongue. She was indeed the grand master of the parade for her many college followers.

She had succeeded in a way that many would envy. Her jet-setting business netted her a very comfortable seven-figure income. A Manhattan penthouse, her Cayman Island beachfront retreat and a condo outside of Montevideo, Uruguay, were tangible evidence of her growing wealth. Yet Veronica had a second, sinister career. She was a professional all right. A professional freelance assassin.

Veronica was apolitical, indifferent to international boundary intrigues. She was amoral and couldn’t-care-less about who employed her. She didn’t recognize sin…a narcotics trafficker was no better nor worse than a head of state. Governmental agencies and state secrets…she was immune to the rhetoric. Acquired over the years, her many contacts spanned the geopolitical spectrum. Democratic presidents, ruthless dictators, regional governors, mayors and businessmen all became her customers at one time or another. Cartel drug lords, political rivals…why even the bi-sexual wife of a Latin American despot had all succumbed to her rather unique method of delivering death.

In principle her modus operandi was quite simple. She would receive an e-mail on her Blackberry stating the name, place and time she was to deliver the goods. The messages were routed through a series of ISP’s that allowed the sender to remain anonymous. Upon confirmation that her Zurich bank was holding $1,000,000 in escrow, she would advise the bank to deposit the funds into her numbered account and accept the assignment. Then she would go to work. Upon completion of the task, an additional $1,000,000 would be added to the account. She knew of course that failure was never an option. These were dangerous people and she could forfeit her life. But Veronica never failed.

*****

Mikail Ivanovich Organov was Minister of Defense for the breakaway Republic of Georgia in the Caucasus region of the former Soviet Union. Encountering him (and not by chance) at a reception for the newly elected premier, Veronica was more than pleased to accept his offer to dance. The gypsy ensemble from the city of Barasoff was renowned for its haunting renditions of the sensuous classics indigenous to the culture of this region.

Why Mr. Organov, you dance divinely, she murmured into his ear. Do you by any chance speak French?

Mais oui, Mademoiselle!

Then donne moi un baiser, cheri (give me a kiss, sweetheart), she whispered.

Soon enough they were ensconced in a luxurious suite, grappling with each other in a series of passionate embraces. Slowly, deliberately, Veronica mounted him and began a rhythmic undulation that brought him to an orgasmic peak. As he began to softly moan his satisfaction, Veronica kissed him deeply and delivered the toxic pellet deep into his throat.

It would end his life.

Insensible in the throes of his shuddering climax, Mikail swallowed with satisfaction. The coroner’s verdict read: Death by asphyxiation secondary to alcohol toxicity.. A high blood alcohol concentration led to vomiting. Mr. Organov choked on his own spew. The headlines raced around the world:

Georgian Minister, second in line for leadership succession, found dead.

*****

Many tools of destruction were available, for a price, in post-Soviet Kyrgyzstan. Veronica chose Ricin, a highly effective neurotoxin, as her personal weapon. Concentrated ten-fold, a single gel cap the size of a new spring pea could paralyze the diaphragm, produce prodigious vomiting and snuff out a life in minutes. There was no antidote. Attempts to induce vomiting only served to conceal the poisonous pills in the ruggae (folds) of the stomach as it spasmodically contracted. The sudden onset of peripheral paralysis removed the 911 option. Death was sure, certain, inevitable. By enterically-coating the capsule, Veronica was protected while it was in her mouth. But when immersed in the acid-bath of a victim’s stomach….

*****

Señora Alicia Mendez de la Vega Olivas was the wife of President Ontiveros. She knew of course that he had a mistress, but she wasn’t fazed…she had a sancha (mistress) of her own. As a bi-sexual, Señora Olivas was content to swing both ways.

To each his own, she would say. "Besides, that pendejo isn’t very good in bed anyway!"

Having met her at a diplomatic cocktail party held in the official residence of Ambassador Wordsworth, Alicia was smitten by Veronica’s beauty. Soon she found herself in a secluded consular apartment, beneath the sheets with her new-found lover.

Someday, I will acquire all of the land this bastard has stolen! she exclaimed.

Oh be quiet, Veronica throatily murmured. Besamé mucho (kiss me a lot).

Amidst the sex toys scattered across the bed the maid found Alicia’s body. Headlines flashed across the Spanish-speaking world:

President’s wife found dead. Girlfriend to be wed.

*****

Japanese Minister of Commerce Kyoshi Yamato fell under her spell at a conference held in Singapore. "Watashi wa annata gab aka kisu (kiss me you fool)."

Veronica surfed the internet the next morning:

Dead foreign minister named in corruption probe.

*****

It was Monte Carlo. It was magical! For the very first time in her life, Veronica was truly in love.

Count Beto Rossini was like no man she had ever known. Tall, handsome and aristocratic, he was the most gorgeous man she had ever been entertained by. He was an exceptional lover, a brilliant conversationalist and an energetic athlete. Tanned and toned, he was a dream-come-true. She couldn’t believe she had been sent to kill him.

Torn between her love and her employer’s mandate, Veronica knew she had no choice. Failure was not an option.

They lay together in a rapturous embrace. Beto, te adoro! She momentarily forgot the deadly pearl that lay hidden beneath her tongue. Lovingly, she traced ringlets across his chest, her saliva glistening in the candlelit glow that suffused the room. Mi amore. She felt him grow with arousal as she lovingly stroked his thigh.

Veronica preferred the woman-atop-man position. She felt more in control that way…able to guide the depth and tempo of her lovemaking.