Son of a Grit: A collection of short stories

By Dennis E. Smirl

What happens next when a crazy uncle sends you a metal detector with instructions to search your back yard? And what happens when you find something you know you didn't bury? Can a garage move from a neighbor's yard to your yard all by itself? If you're driving home some night on a dark, lonely hightay, should you stop for a holdup gang—or run them over? Can you buy more trouble than you can handle with an old baseball card? Or can you trade it for something you want back in your life? What kind of danger waits for you when you try to salvage the guns from a crashed airplane in a war zone? Do some people have to spin tales about themselves, or are they burying their secrets with lies? What do you do when you find a murder victim at a public event, and the cops suspect that you're the murderer? How can you tell if an old man is confessing to several murders or just telling a tall tale about the Old West? What do you believe when a mysterious figure keeps popping up throughout your live, and never ages? How do you accept the gifts he keeps giving you when you didn't even know you needed them?

These questions and more are answered in the pages of Son of a Grit—but not always the way you expect because for some of us, the world is never quite what we think it is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis E. Smirl
• Release date: Feb 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310781087

Dennis E. Smirl

Dennis E. Smirl has been an Air Force officer, a salesman for a Fortune 500 company, a school psychologist, a computer science instructor at several colleges and universities, and a business owner. Married to his college sweetheart for more than half a century, he has spent time in Mexico, Japan, and South Vietnam, but prefers to take family vacations in the USA and Canada. A writer for as long as he can remember—he attempted a first novel at age ten—his first taste of national publication was a race report written and published in 1965. A science fiction fan for almost the same length of time, Mr. Smirl joined the Science Fiction Book Club when member numbers were much shorter. Beyond his interest in Science Fiction, he has had a lifetime interest in horseback riding, auto racing (as a driver), golf, photography, computers and information processing, and mystery novels. He has written thirteen novels and more than seventy short stories and novellas.

Book preview

SON OF A GRIT

A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES

by DENNIS E. SMIRL

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is unintentional and coincidental.

Uncle Enoch’s Metal Detector, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

Roseland Charlie and the Magic Garage, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

Holdup at the Lightning Creek Bridge, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

One Average Week, with Baseball Cards, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl. A similar version appeared in MARKET SQUARE 1987 produced by Fort Scott Community College.

Get the Guns, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl. A similar version appeared in KWA WORDS ACROSS THE FLATLAND 2009-2010, Copyright 2010.

Witless Protection, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

Murder in the Park, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

Interview with a Cowboy, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl.

Charley Overbrook, Copyright© 2016 by Dennis E. Smirl

Cover art courtesy of ClipMajic

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, except for purposes of review.

Lost Aardvarks Press

Topeka, KS 66614

[e-mail]

Table of Contents

Uncle Enoch’s Metal Detector

Roseland Bill and the Magic Garage

Holdup on the Lightning Creek Bridge

One Average Week, with Baseball Cards

Get the Guns

Witless Protection

Murder in the Park

Interview with a Cowboy

Charley Overbrook

Uncle Enoch’s Metal Detector

A week or so before Christmas, a UPS driver left a large package on our front porch.

What is it? my wife, RaVae, asked, once I’d brought it inside.

It’s something from Uncle Enoch, I said, reading the return address.

You mean that weird uncle on your mom’s side?

That’s the one. I began opening the wrapping.

Shouldn’t you wait for Christmas?

My family isn’t big on Christmas, I said. Never was, and particularly not since Grandma Emma died. You have noticed we haven’t gotten together with my side of the family for years. Just yours.

It had occurred to me. She moved some plates from the dishwasher to the cabinet before saying, But I just figured you were all a bunch of doomed Scrooges.

As good a description as any, I said, finally getting the cardboard open. Well, it looks like he lived up to his reputation, I added.

What reputation?

He was always the family joker. Back when we were still exchanging Christmas gifts, we always knew he would give everyone a weird gift.

She looked over my shoulder. So what did he send you?

I think it’s a metal detector. Evidently zebras never change their stripes.

I thought it was tigers. She put the rest of dishes away and joined me in the living room. It doesn’t look that new, she said.

I found a folded piece of paper taped to it. He sent it with a note.

Someone in your family can write? I didn't know, as they never send letters.

Snarky. I read the note. Uncle Enoch said was headed for Australia, and didn’t want to take anything except clothes and toiletries. Out of some sense of familial responsibility—according to the note—he chose to send us the metal detector rather than sacrifice it in a yard sale.

How thoughtful of him, RaVae said.

There’s a P.S. He thinks I should practice with it in the back yard until I get the hang of it.

And he’s bossy, too, she added.

I put the metal detector back in its cardboard box, took the box out to the garage, and placed it on a shelf. Then, for a multitude of reasons, I didn’t think about the metal detector or Uncle Enoch for months.

Finally, one June morning when we were cleaning the garage, RaVae took notice of the box. What are you going to do with that thing? she asked.

I shrugged. I don’t know.

You need to do something about it. I hate clutter hanging around.

Whatever, I got it out of the box, checked it over, and to my surprise, the battery was still good.

You know what? I’m going to try this thing out.

Now? she asked. Then she asked, Where?

The back yard. Just like Uncle Enoch recommended.

You’ll miss your nap, she said with a knowing smile.

"I’m not that old. I don’t need a nap every day."

So you say. But have fun, anyway.

I took the detector out through the back door of the garage, put on the headset, and flipped the switch. Within the first five minutes, I’d found a nickel, a rusty roofing nail, and a metal name tag from the collar of our dearly departed dog. I was definitely on a roll.

How’s it going? RaVae asked from behind me. I jumped about half a foot into the air because with the headset on, I hadn’t heard her approaching.

I showed her the junk—and the nickel. She told me not to spend it all in one place. We laughed at the age-old joke.

You want to try this? I asked.

I don’t want to muss my hair. Besides, what’s there to find in our back yard, except more junk?

You never know. She went back to sit on the deck and watch.

I walked back and forth in a regular pattern, trying not to miss any part of the yard. Then, after another five minutes, the indicator on the metal detector just about jumped off the scale. I’d found something big. I stooped down and dug through the turf, hoping to find... maybe a quarter?

What are you doing? my wife asked from the comfort of the deck.

I got a signal that there’s a lot of metal here, but I can’t find anything.

Maybe the detector’s gone screwy.

I don’t think so. I took the headset off, and eased the detector to the ground. Then I went in the garage, looked in the cardboard box, and found the dog-eared manual which I hadn’t bothered to read. After a couple of pages, I went back outside.

According to the manual, I’ve found something that’s buried.

She hurried down to confront me. She waggled a finger and said, You’re not digging this yard up. Not after all we went through to get a good lawn.

But there might be something valuable down there.

More like a water or gas main—which if you dig up, will cost us a fortune.

I’ll be careful.

Uh-uh. No digging. We were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and I decided