Random Stranger: The Abstract Series

By Matthew Davenport

How do you kill an idea? Especially one as stubborn as Randy...

Random Stranger is an Abstract, an idea made flesh, and an unknown adversary is out to kill him and his friends.

Have you ever had car trouble and received aid from a random stranger? Or awakened after a particularly hard night of drinking to ask yourself who that random stranger is next to you? Wonder no longer, for this is the story of Randy Stranger, who’s always around to add an unpredictable element to each of your personal stories. Whenever the unexpected happens, there’s Randy, whether he wants to be or not.

Randy and his crew have been formed from ideas that had collected and been shared across the human consciousness. Together with his best friend, Lucky Bastard, and his ex, the shotgun toting Karma, they find themselves suddenly the target of a long planned assassination. What could be worse than being the one in the crosshairs? How about learning that the would-be killer might be someone close to you; that they might be an Abstract as well? 

What Readers are saying?

"It was very fast paced and entertaining."

"Hooked me from the beginning and kept me wanting more."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Davenport
• Release date: Jun 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513044941

Book preview

Random Stranger

By Matthew Davenport

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright ©2010

Matthew Davenport

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author/publisher.

Cover art courtesy of Robert Reynolds

Copyright ©2010

For Ma and Pop.

Thanks for the constant support.

Chapter 1

Katie was drinking her coffee at the small bar inside the coffee shop. While similar to almost every coffee shop in America, it was actually quite different in that it didn't serve anything with a naked mermaid on the bag. As she sipped her coffee, Katie was carefully, and painstakingly searching her foggy, weighted mind for the right words before spilling her story to her friends.

Anxiously sitting next to Katie were Lisa and Jenny. Like most groups of female friends on a Sunday mid-morning in a coffee shop, Lisa and Jenny already knew every detail of the story that Katie hadn't told them yet, simply by being within the coffee shop and knowing that their friend was about to tell the story of her hangover. The scene, to any male, would have looked very similar to vultures being told that they had to wait exactly three minutes and seventeen seconds before they would be allowed to bite into that dead carcass that had been ripened by days in the sun. The scene, to a female, would have been quite normal. Due to this and the intoxicating qualities of women, most men would find that, within seconds, their opinion of the scene would probably match that of the women.

Lisa and Jenny were mere seconds from losing control and drooling.

I don't remember much about last night. Katie started, having decided that there was no way to make it sound like ships passing in the night, without it sounding like the captain's of those ships were drunk beyond reason and had managed to only pass each other while getting sucked into a hurricane.

I was at the club, drinking with you two, and the next thing I knew, there was this random guy dancing with me. She sipped her coffee again. He was cute, and I can't remember what he was wearing. Another sip. I think he was funny, because I was laughing a lot. The next thing I really remember well was that he didn't have a room. He told the guy at the counter of the hotel to check the book again, and as he did the phone rang and someone canceled their reservation. It was all kind of lucky. She paused, mostly to wish she hadn't used that word, because now the vultures were giggling.

Just plow on, Katie. She thought to herself.

Anyways, I woke up this morning, rolled over, and he was getting out of bed, gave me a kiss, and was out the door before I could ask him his name.

Jenny and Lisa laughed, the noise making Katie's dehydrated brain scream in agony. She hid her painful grimace behind another sip of coffee. From this point on, the girls sent jabs and jibes at Katie, picking on her for her night of indiscretion while secretly envying that they went home alone.

For this entire conversation, Random (Randy) Stranger, was sitting at the next table, directly in Katie's line of sight, drinking his own coffee, and listening to what she could remember. Sometimes this was his favorite part, sitting back and listening to how they couldn't remember him. She was looking directly at him at this point and never once recognized him.

Randy was an Abstract, from a huge family of Abstracts. His life was the stuff of stories, literally. Anytime any person had a story in which a random, nondescript person entered, the so-called random stranger, it was always Randy Stranger.

Always wasn't exactly true, though. It's always been Randy for as long as he could remember, which was a fairly long time. Before that it was his father, Randall, and before that it was his grandfather, whom Randy was named after.

Being an abstract isn't actually as taxing as you would think. If Randy didn't know that he was an Abstract, then he wouldn't even know he was doing anything. On the flip side of that coin, though, there are times when Randy just can't help himself, as in the case of Katie. Randy was a sucker for a redhead.

Randy flagged down the waitress who had brought over the giggling group of girl's coffee and asked that he pay their bill. After doing so, he stood up and left the cafe.

A couple minutes later, Katie had had enough of being giggled and metaphorically prodded at, and flagged over the waitress herself.

I'd like the bill please.

The waitress looked at her kind of confused. Oh, I thought that you knew the gentleman, she gestured at where Randy had been sitting. He took care of your bill for you.

The ladies all joined the woman in looking confused, as, in most cases, the condition is highly contagious. Who took care of the bill? Jenny asked, hoping for something more, and really juicy, to add to the story of the day.

Gesturing again, the waitress answered. The random gentleman in the corner.

***

Leaving the cafe, Randy did what he always did, and just walked. When he walked, he did it without care of destination, distance, plans for the day, cost of transport, or anything. The thing about being Random Stranger, was that everything happened to you. While Randy could, if pressed, control what was going to happen, he found that letting things happen was simply easier.

Walking down the street, Randy blended into the crowd almost too easily. He dressed in denim blue jeans, held up with an old brown belt, a blank, white t-shirt, and an old red flannel shirt that he left unbuttoned. His hair was usually combed with a slight part, but combing didn't really matter. Coming to a corner on the sidewalk, Randy just kept walking through the intersection. Cars honked and slammed on their brakes, and Randy generally ignored them as one would ignore the gust of wind from a rather irate fly that happened to be trying to kill you from the other side of the room because you accidentally sat on his mother. At least, the fly would think it was its mother, but at this point in the fly's cycle its mother is likely already dead. Flies are so stupid.

Randy got to the middle of the street and saw a quarter lying on the pavement. Picking it up, he hurriedly finished his previously lazy crossing of the street. Getting across he trotted over to the slanted parking spots with meters in front and waited. A lot of times, even when he wasn't actively controlling it, he could just tell when he was going to be needed. This time did not fail him.

An elderly lady was soon standing at the meter and searching fervently through her purse for a coin. It was actually so fervently that Randy was very sure that she must know exactly what its like to look for a needle in a haystack. The sheer volume of items that she removed from the purse astounded him, leaving Randy with thoughts of how the woman did look slightly like Julie Andrews. If Julie Andrews had been about a foot shorter and preferred denim. Randy knew she wouldn't find her quarter. They never did. Tapping her on the shoulder, he held up the quarter.

The elderly woman, dressed in a simple outfit of ladies jeans and a tucked in button up shirt, started at the tap. Upon seeing the quarter, she glowed as if seeing the Holy Grail and then blushed, with a beautifully well practiced 'frail old woman' routine. That's wonderful. She motioned towards the purse. I know I just put a handful of quarters in there, at least two rolls, I have no idea where they went. Thank you so much. As she took the quarter and put it into the meter, her cell phone rang.

He smiled as she took the call, No problem. Starting to walk away, Randy had made it about ten feet before there was the snap of the woman folding her phone shut and then calling out to him.

Sir! Sir! He turned back around and met her half way. That was my husband on the line. She looked slightly annoyed, as if her husband had called to say I've got your rolls of quarters, did you need them?

He called to tell me that he wouldn't be able to make the show tonight, at this she pulled out a pair of tickets. They are for a play, 12 Angry Men, being held by the local college. It's supposed to be genius work. She pushed the tickets towards him. I'd like you to have them, sir. I'm sure you've got a beautiful young lady you could take with you. She handed Randy the tickets, which he took (sails set, Randy never fought the direction the wind took him).

Thank you, he said. I'll enjoy these so much. Thank you. He shook her hand emphatically. He probably wouldn't even get to watch the whole show. He never did. Something always happened that yanked him into some other adventure. It was alright, though. He'd seen the movie with Jack Lemmon and that guy from the Patton movie.

As she started on her way, he called out to her this time. You wouldn't happen to know the name of that guy from the Patton movie?

She shook her head, I can't seem to remember, sorry.

Nevermind. He turned and started back off down the road so consumed with trying to remember the name of the guy from Patton that he paid absolutely no attention to where he was going. Randy Stranger never did.

***

Hysterically, and coincidentally, enough, if one were to take the time to describe Randy, they'd quickly note that he was an every-man. Someone who was the common Joe, and everyone could relate with. Upon occasion that he happened to be the horrible random stranger in your tale, he always stood up for what he believed in and never backed down from a fight, even if it was one in which he had drunkenly recalled your mother's more indecent acts of the previous night, in very crude and accurate detail. While later he would be apologetic for the fight and pain thereof, even the story would end with how he and you wound up all buddy-buddy and singing at the jukebox, he never actually apologized for besmirching your mother. He drank regularly and only smoked as the occasions demanded it, and fairly rarely, although it wasn't unheard of, was willing to partake in other mind altering substances.

Walking the street, still confused about the actors who might have partaken in the starring role of the movie Patton, it crossed Randy's mind who he could take to the show that night. Passing by a car repair shop, Randy happened upon a man smoking a cigarette, on what Randy could only assume was the man's break. Tapping the man on the shoulder, he asked if he could use his cellphone and then involuntarily flinched.

Being Random Stranger, each chance encounter had about a million ways that they could go. The final numbers showed that fifty percent of the time, the chance encounter would be to some varying degree into the negative. The math on this wasn't just a random figure, as Randy's brother, Perfect (Percy), had actually followed Randy around for a week collecting the data, before growing extremely bored with the act and deciding to calculate percentages over a Big Beer or eight in the Longbranch Bar and Grill in San Francisco, where they had been when this had taken place. Normally, math done under the duress of alcohol was suspect, but, as anyone who's ever ran into Perfect Stranger would tell you, he rarely makes mistakes.

While his flinch did earn him the curious gaze of the man with the cigarette, Randy was happy to see that this encounter ended in the other, positive, fifty percent. Taking the man's phone, he dialed the number. When dialing the number, it doesn't actually matter what number Randy dials, as the friend he was calling always had the extreme luck of being on the other end of the line, unless of course, whatever Randy was going to ask him to join him for would end horribly. After two rings, Lucky Bastard picked up on the other end of the line.

Randy's lifestyle usually meant that he didn't have many friends. While describing him is easy, his being an Abstract means that not many people can remember him, his name (although, they always get it right) or anything about him, other than his being a place holder in whatever adventure/misadventure might have befallen them. This of course changes when speaking of other Abstracts.

A lot of times, you'll hear a story about this random stranger who, in the end of the story, turned out to be a lucky bastard. This is very rarely the case. In all actuality, the person telling the story is very confused, or highly exaggerating. The man that is both a lucky bastard, and a random stranger, is two different people who happen to be very good friends, and, to the credit of the people telling the story, who happen to look very much alike. As two good friends are characteristically likely to do, Randy and Lucky tend to hang out a lot together at bars, strip clubs, office parties, and barber shops, to name a few.

Rand the man! Hey, you wouldn't believe where I'm at right now.

Randy rolled his eyes to the man with the cigarette, pointing at the phone, and then decided to ignore Lucky's opening statement.

I've got tickets to a show, and wanted to know if you wanted to come along?

As was characteristic of them both, Lucky also ignored Randy's question. A bachelor party! He yelled into the phone. I was walking down the street, and a bunch of these guys fell out of a bar claiming they needed strippers. So, I just asked them to wait a second, dialed some random number, not yours of course, but the actual random, and boom, six strippers looking to make extra pay were in the bar right next door. He stopped to yell something similar to a whoop, but muffled by something that Randy could only guess at, before coming back to the phone. I tried inviting my brother, but...well, you know how that goes. I'm sure he's lost by now.

Poor Bastard. Randy mumbled.

So this show, I'll see you there. 8 o'clock right?

Randy was about to fish for the ticket, but stopped himself short. If a guy named Lucky guesses 8 o'clock, then he's usually right. Randy also hushed his next statement, describing the where.

Randy's next gesture was to hang up the cellphone, as Lucky was no longer talking to him, although his words of naughty and dirty girl could be heard quite clearly.

Turning, he reached out to hand the phone back to the man with the cigarette. Taking the phone, the man nodded