Ten-Five - You're Going Home, Marine!: And Other Short Stories

By Darrel Bartell

The Twilight Zone meets Saturday Night Live in this captivating collection of short stories! Science fiction, paranormal, mystery, suspense, drama, and comedy, all combined in one collection of plot twisting reads. Some tales are based on true stories. There's something for everyone. Curl up next to the fire or in your favorite nook, but don't get too comfortable. One minute you'll laugh, the next you'll be sitting on the edge of your seat, and within a flip of the page the suspense will be so intense that you'll wonder if you'll be able to sleep!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, LLC
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781944277444

Darrel Bartell

Darrell D. Bartell is an author, actor, playwright, Texas Hold ’Em dealer and player, and US Army veteran, as well as a former private investigator, security officer, cab driver, stage magician, and cancer survivor. He has a MA in drama from Texas Woman’s University in Denton, Texas, and also attended the American Broadcasting School in Arlington, Texas. Darrell has written a number of award-winning plays, and he tries to find and write about subjects that haven’t been brought to the stage. He is a member of the Fort Worth Writers, the Phantom Hunters (a paranormal investigation team located in the DFW Metroplex), and a volunteer group called Porchlight for the Missing and Unidentified, which assists law enforcement and medical examiners in providing leads for John Doe and Jane Doe cases.

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Ten-Five:

You're Going Home, Marine!

and other short stories

by

Darrell Bartell

Copyright © 2015 Darrell Bartell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, from the author.

Book Editor: Jody Amato

Book Layout and Cover Design by Kalpart

Visit www.kalpart.com

Published by Progressive Rising Phoenix Press

www.progressiverisingphoenix.com

Printed in the U.S.A.

ISBN: 978-1-944277-44-4

First editions of the following short stories were originally published:

Non-Negotiable, 2000

The Tip,

Mama,

Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Poker Players, 2011

An Ace of Mercy,

The Ten Ninety-Nine Affair,

The Excavation,

Orange Crush,

Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Poker Players,

That's Where We Met (originally Lessons on Love at the Dry Hole) 2012

Author warrants that author is the sole author of the work; that author is the sole proprietor of the work and has the full power and authority to copyright the work. The work is original and not in the public domain; and the work does not infringe on any copyright.

Tribute

To my sons, Matthew, Alexander, and Jeremy, and to my daughter Donita: I hope I’ve made you proud.

To my colleagues at Fort Worth Writers: My deepest appreciation for your insights and expertise in the writing field.

For Sherrie Lynn

(1963-2015)

Forever in our hearts

Table of Contents

An Ace of Mercy

Orange Crush

A Ring of Truth

I Got Your Quick-Trip!

Hear Me Out!

Don’t Bask on my Congregation

The Curse of the Kilimanjaro Ruby

The Excavation

The Ten Ninety-Nine Affair

The Tip

Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Poker Players

The Spoiled Fruits and Vegetables of Minion Labor

Oh, Holy Night

Memoirs of an Alien Hostage

The Jacksboro Club

Speak the Speech I Pray You . . . Line!

Nonnegotiable

Ten-Five: You’re Going Home, Marine!

The Dark Rainbow

The Measure of Family Values

The Wisdom of Father Liam O’Shaughnessey

Lessons on Love at the Dry Hole

When Reality Television Attacks

Author Biography

An Ace of Mercy

Breathing a sigh of relief, Amanda Blazedale observed the Fort Worth Country Club enshrouded by the late evening fog as she drove through the entrance. They had told her seven-thirty sharp, but the clock on her dashboard read a quarter till eight. The investigative reporter parked her Escalade next to a Lexus, got out, and hit the alarm button on her key chain to make sure her car was secure.

Pulling her beige overcoat around her, she walked past the neatly trimmed rose bushes to the front porch of the huge mansion. Before she could ring the bell, the butler opened the door.

Charles. You startled me, said Amanda, entering the foyer.

I’m sorry, Ms. Blazedale. I saw you pull up. May I take your coat?

Yes, thank you, Amanda said, shrugging out of the garment. Is everyone here?

No, madam. Mr. Singleton has not yet arrived. Everyone else is waiting in the game room. Right this way.

Amanda followed Charles down the hallway and through a set of double doors as he held them open. She entered and familiar faces turned in her direction. All she knew about them were mostly rumors. After six months of digging she had gathered enough evidence to write a story that would have shredded their reputations and sent each one to prison. Not interested in another Pulitzer and since blackmail wasn’t her style, she offered them an alternative and asked for membership into the elite circle. At first their distrust was palpable, but as they got to know Amanda, they grew to accept her, and even become friends.

Sitting near the fireplace was Judge Sarah Arnold, a woman in her late fifties who had developed a taste for bourbon on the rocks after a hard day in the courtroom. Jill Larkin sat across from her. The body builder known for her fancy chain of health and fitness clubs nursed one of her protein shakes. Over behind the bar stood Darwin Howard, a producer who always made a profit from his works of stage and screen.

Here’s one of the missing, Amanda heard Ernest Greer announce as he reentered the room and gulped down his jigger of whiskey. Ernest, a lawyer in his late thirties, appeared to have had one or two shots before Amanda’s arrival.

Sorry to be late. The fog made it almost impossible to drive.

If you were in my courtroom, Judge Arnold intoned, you would’ve been held in contempt, my dear. I do hate tardiness.

I’ll try to remember that, Judge, Amanda replied. If I’m ever in your courtroom.

May I get you something? asked Darwin.

The usual will be fine.

Darwin delivered a Diet Coke to Amanda.

Thank you. She took a drink and watched Gary Palmer return through the double doors, pocketing his cellphone with a smile.

How is the real estate business, Mr. Palmer? asked Darwin.

Great! I sold the old Main Street Theatre this afternoon. The new owners want to restore it.

Wonderful—I’ll see that one of my pictures premiers at the old place.

Amanda saw Gary’s face light up when their eyes met. Amanda, I didn’t think you were coming.

I can’t afford not to be here. Sooner or later, my turn will come.

Darwin finished his Scotch. Indeed it will. Just as it did for the rest of us.

Amanda’s attention turned to the bodybuilder. How’s your father, Jill?

Still in the nursing home, she answered. The doctor said nothing has changed. Thank you for asking.

The doors opened a third time and the final member, Brian Singleton, arrived. I hope you haven’t started without me.

We were getting worried, Brian, Jill said.

Ernest sneered at Jill’s remark. "You mean you were getting worried. We should have started twenty minutes ago."

You’re the eager one, Brian chuckled as Charles left the room and closed the double doors. A mortician’s work is never done. I had to make preparations for a departed one. This dreary fog increases my business.

Let’s get on with it. I got a grand riding on the Maverick’s game tonight and I want to get home to see the second half, grumbled Ernest.

Judge Arnold snickered at the lawyer. You mean you actually bet on the Mavericks? Why don’t you give your money to my re-election campaign? At least that’s a sure thing.

Everyone but Ernest laughed.

Are you running unopposed again, Judge? inquired Gary.

There is a rumor that Ernest would like to run for my district.

No, thank you. I make a better lawyer than a judge, and I enjoy a good argument now and then. You can keep your district, Ernest informed them.

Darwin finished his drink. Unless anyone else has something to add, let’s get down to business.

The group gathered around the card table and took their respective seats. Each member had a single business envelope in front of them, except for Darwin Howard who, along with his envelope, had a pack of unopened playing cards. At this time, I would like to call the meeting to order. As per our charter, I ask for a moment of silence to be given to my late mother-in-law.

The members bowed their heads until Jill broke the silence. My sympathies to your family, Darwin.

Thank you. At least her suffering is over and so is my wife’s. It’s only been two months, but Margaret knows her mother is in a better place now.

I’m glad we could help, said Gary.

So am I, Gary. No one should have to die from Alzheimer’s. The accident was more humane. At least she died with dignity.

Amanda watched Darwin pick up the pack of cards and unwrap the plastic cover. Since I’m the dealer, it is my responsibility to go over the rules.

Do we have to? snapped Ernest. I think we know the game by now.

It’s the way we’ve preceded for the last five years, whispered the mortician. We don’t want any misunderstandings.

Brian is right. It’s what we agreed to, Jill defended. It’s to make sure everyone knows what they’re getting themselves into.

Hell, if anyone doesn’t know by now—

That’s enough, Ernest!

Amanda jumped when Judge Arnold slammed her glass on the table like a gavel.

Now, now, Judge! Be nice. Darwin began shuffling the cards. As I was saying, each of us within the past week has given Charles $5,000 plus the required information. That’s $35,000, of which $5,000 goes into the club treasury, leaving $30,000 to be given by me to whomever is first to finish the game. Darwin continued to shuffle.

Each of us gets a card turned face up until the ace of spades appears. The player who has the ace of spades is our first winner and he or she is dismissed. Then the cards are reshuffled and dealt out face down, which you will seal in the envelope in front of you. One by one you will meet with me privately to see who has the remaining aces. Those who do will be eligible to continue the game and compete for the prize money. The first one to complete the game wins. Since I had the ace of spades last time, I’m not eligible to compete in the first round, which makes me the dealer. Any questions?

Everyone remained silent as Darwin finished shuffling the cards.

Excellent.

Amanda watched Darwin pass the deck to Judge Arnold, who cut the cards. The producer took back the deck and called out the cards as he dealt each face up. The first card he handed to Brian Singleton. Four of hearts.

The next card went to Jill Larkin. Ten of clubs.

The third was given to Gary Palmer. Six of clubs.

The fourth followed to Ernest Greer. Jack of clubs.

Amanda received the fifth card. Nine of hearts.

The sixth card, the ace of diamonds, went to Judge Arnold. Right card, wrong suit, she quipped and sipped her bourbon.

Amanda’s eyes followed the cards around the table for the second round. King of clubs. Two of clubs. Jack of hearts. Seven of spades. Four of diamonds, and ace of clubs to the Judge.

We should play poker sometime, Darwin. I like the way you deal.

I’ll take your money anytime, Your Honor.

The tension grew as the cards were dealt more slowly. Ten of spades for Brian. Nine of diamonds for Jill. Six of hearts to Gary.

Please let this be it, begged Ernest.

Five of spades, said the producer.

Christ!

King of diamonds for Amanda and king of spades for the Judge. Round four. Should I keep dealing, or does anyone want to take a break?

Funny, Darwin. Very funny.

I thought you would like it, Gary. Here we go.

Darwin adjusted the remaining cards in his hand. Brian, six of spades. Jill, queen of hearts. Jack of diamonds for Gary.

Be good to me, Ernest interrupted, drumming his fingers on the table.

Sorry, Ernest. King of hearts.

For crying out loud!

Will you relax? Any more excitement and you’ll be saying hello to my Uncle Milo, God rest his soul.

I doubt that, Brian, Gary smiled. St. Peter wouldn’t let him through.

Now, gentlemen. Let’s not be too hard on Ernest. Darwin rested his elbows on the table. St. Peter has been known to make exceptions, even for lawyers.

Everybody’s a comedian, growled Ernest, finishing his whiskey.

Let us continue.

Amanda’s heart raced as Darwin turned over the next card. He looked at it with an enigmatic smile, placing the card in front of her. Congratulations, Amanda.

The ace of spades, she said, her hands covering her mouth.

Everyone applauded with enthusiasm except Ernest. Crap! One card! By one lousy card!

You have no idea how much this means to me. Amanda held back the tears as she rose from the table.

We know, my dear, said the judge.

Darwin gathered up the cards from the members and began reshuffling them. As stated in the rules, you’re dismissed, Amanda.

Thank you, Darwin. Thank you everyone.

Go home and relax. Everything will be fine now, Gary reassured her.

Amanda left the room through the double doors, where she met the butler. I see you’re the first lucky winner this evening.

Yes, I am, Charles.

Congratulations. I’ll meet you at the front door.

Amanda walked down the hallway and moments later Charles arrived to help her with her coat.

Have a good night, madam. Drive safely.

I will. Good night.

Amanda strolled through the fog with a newfound confidence. After using the key chain to disengage the alarm, she climbed into her Escalade and began to make the long drive home. At long last her prayers had been answered.

Almost an hour later, Amanda pulled into her driveway, shut off the engine and regained her composure before exiting her car. Nervously, she inserted her key into the lock of the front door. Once inside, she put her coat in the hall closet and strolled into the living room to greet Kevin, her husband. Hello, darling. How was your day at the office?

You’re late. Where have you been? But before Amanda could answer, Kevin delivered an open-handed slap to her face.

Is that the best you can do? she mumbled as another slap knocked her to the floor.

The next afternoon, Amanda arrived at her newspaper office wearing a loosely fitted blue blouse that was a size too big. The long sleeves helped cover up the bruises on her arms. Sitting at her desk, she pulled out a compact from her purse and double-checked her makeup. Gently using her lipstick, she did the best she could to camouflage her swollen lower lip.

Amanda, may I see you a minute?

Looking up, she saw Mitch Clayton, her editor. I’ll be right there. Amanda snapped her compact shut, rose from her desk, and proceeded to his office, where she found him pouring a cup a coffee.

Would you like some? he offered.

No, thanks.

Have a seat.

Worried, Amanda sat in the chair in front of his desk. Mitch was adding creamer. Is it about the article on Dr. Bronski? Did I miss the deadline?

No, you had fifteen minutes to spare. Nice work. The DA’s office will be investigating that quack for insurance fraud, thanks to you.

Thanks, Mitch.

I got a call from Sandy Denison, the one who runs the woman’s abuse shelter. She said more women have been asking for help since the article you wrote. No telling how many lives you saved.

I wouldn’t go that far. Her heart swelled with gratitude.

I would. Mitch paused to sip his coffee. Let me ask you something. How would you feel about doing a follow-up story?

Her curiosity kicked in. What kind of follow-up story?

"We know the end result of spousal