Drone Games

By M. Black

Miss stories from the 80's? Enjoy this nostalgic tale with a futuristic setting. Fans of Stranger Things and Ready Player One, Goonies, Stand By Me, will enjoy this!

Enjoy the cast of Fred O’ Sullivan, Sherry Slater, Chuck Miller and Ted Oloo as they solve the mysterious death of Mr. Moretti which leads our heroes to the consequential DRONE GMES. Set in a future setting of Manhattan, New York, four good friends graduating middle school, have fun on scavenger hunts collecting 80’s paraphernalia, but when they discover one of the items—a Pac-Man game—is more than they bargained for, they’ll have the Italian mob and Russian FSB on their tails as they ride bikes through the city in search of a way out of the mess.

"ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!" -Amazon Reader
"FRED IS A DELIGHT!" -Amazon Reader
"THIS WAS REFRESHING!" -Amazon Reader

Filled with laughs, adventure, mystery, and even a touch of romance, if you love a good coming of age caper, this novel is for you! FANS OF THIS AUTHOR MAY ALSO ENJOY HER OTHER WORK: Electric Gardens, Quantum State, Exotiqa, Animal Graph and Simulation. A clean fun read appropriate for adults and tweens alike.

Fans of STAND BY ME, GOONIES, ET, STRANGER THINGS will enjoy this blast from the 80’s past coming of age adventure with a science fiction twist. With video games, scavenger hunts, 80’s paraphernalia and a fun caper to solve, DRONE GAMES reminds us all of how fun it is to be a kid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ami Blackwelder
• Release date: Jan 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781370898640

Book preview

DRONE GAMES

By M. Black

Smashwords Edition

Copyright (C) 2019 by Ami Blackwelder

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or repro-duced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, includ-ing photocopying, recording, taping or by any information stor-age retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical arti-cles and reviews.

M. Black books may be ordered through local book venues and online retailers or by contacting the author. For more infor-mation, please visit her main website and her sister website:

http://MBlackDystopianThrillers.blogspot.com

http://AmiBlackwelder.blogspot.com

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, inci-dents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Proofread and edited by: Carol Brandon, Thalia Simp-son, and Stephanie Balistreri.

Copyedited by Eloquent Enraptures

Beta-Read by Robin Daley and Len Steele.

Cover art by Cover Mint and Eloquent Enraptures

Cover Design by Eloquent Enraptures

Fans of Stand By Me, Goonies, Stranger Things and Ready Player One will enjoy this blast from the 80’s past, coming-of-age adventure with a science fiction twist. With video games, scavenger hunts, 80’s para-phernalia and a fun caper to solve, Drone Wars re-minds us all of how fun it is to be a kid.

Enjoy the cast of Fred O’ Sullivan, Sherry Slater, Chuck Miller and Ted Oloo as they solve the mysteri-ous death of Mr. Moretti; which leads our heroes to the consequential Drone Games.

Set in a future setting of Manhattan, New York, Fred is depressed after his fathers death in a fire on the job as a fireman. Fred and three friends all graduating middle school have fun on scavenger hunts collecting 80’s paraphernalia—and this helps Fred forget his loss.

When they discover one of the items—a Pac-Man game—is more than they bargained for, they’ll have the Italian mob and Russian FSB on their tails as they ride bikes through the city in search of a way out of the mess and Fred will have to find his courage again.

Filled with laughs, adventure, mystery, and even a touch of romance; if you love a good coming-of-age caper, this novel is for you.

Dedicated to my brother Timothy Keith Blackwelder and our fun in the eighties.

Table of Contents

The Scavenger Hunt

The Boogie Board

The Pac-Man

The Atari Games

The Diamond

The Bullies

Oh, Sherry

The Drones

The Police Station

The Beating

The Apartment

The Mobs

The Drone Wars

The Nerd’s Revenge

The Kidnapping

The Trade

The Intruder

The Dwight Plan

The Scarred Mobster

The Mobile Atari

Take on Me

The Scavenger Hunt

HI, MY NAME IS FREDRICK O’Sullivan, but people call me Fred. I live in lower east Manhattan, closer to Brooklyn. We aren’t exactly poor, but we aren’t rich either. Mom likes to say we’ve got the pride of the English and the fighting spirit of the Irish in us. I think she just likes to say that to forget that we’re alone; that Dad’s gone. Ever since he died, I haven't had much fight in me. He died of smoke inha-lation on the job three years ago. Got stuck in a burn-ing house when the roof fell in. I was just ten. I keep his red fireman's hat hanging on a hook by my door to remind myself that he’s here whenever I need him, and that has been a lot.

The vintage video for Take on Me by A-Ha blares on MTV through my television by the wall where the window is, a window overlooking a few of my favorite cafes in the distance. Since it is summer, I have a lot of free time on my hands.

My side room wall is covered from top to bottom with old ‘80s paraphernalia: stained magazines from the decade, from People to Times; newspapers, a Gar-field missing an ear, Casey the Talking Robot, too many Garbage Pail cards, a few Teenage Mutant Nin-ja Turtles still in their boxes, a View-Master, some He-Man and She-Ra missing their legs, a bag of Mad-balls—a personal favorite of mine, a basket of Smurfs, Transformers in mint condition, G.I. Joe figures hang-ing inside their boxes, and even a Cabbage Patch doll sits in there somewhere. I know; it’s embarrassing. I don’t admit that last bit to many people, just my clos-est friends—who by the way, should be here any mi-nute.

Still, the main item of importance, and which my friends come for whenever they visit, is my Atari, with vintage joysticks. I’ve got a Nintendo and Commodore 64 too, stacked on my shelf, if anyone cares.

When I hear the knock on my door, I jump from the La-Z-Boy in front of the Atari where I’ve been testing out a game of Frogger I bought on eBay. You have to check, to make sure you weren’t sold a dud.

In walks Chuck Miller, my friend from down the street. Sadly, most of the neighborhood still calls him Chuck-E-Cheese, because of his weight since sixth grade, even though he’s lost a few pounds. Short curly blond locks and plump cheeks almost make him adorable, the way that Cabbage Patch doll in my stash is adorable. I’d know him a mile away in that sky-blue tee-shirt with an image of Pac-Man that doesn’t quite cover his belly all the way.

So, are we gonna do this, or what? Chuck asks.

We have to wait for the others.

The door is halfway ajar before it’s pushed open all the way and in walks Ted, short for Theodore Oloo, wearing a plaid shirt buttoned to the top. His parents, though originally from Kenya, live on the lower west side of Manhattan. He became my tutor when my grades dropped and now we’re inseparable. He tosses his backpack onto the wood table at the center of my room and pulls out his Rubik’s Cube. Pushing his glasses against his nose, he then rolls a few colors around on the cube.

Almost got it.

Chuck watches mesmerized. I don’t know how you figure out all those squares.

What is it, like the fifth vintage cube he’s found online?

And I win them every time, Ted says, finishing one more roll before all sides of the cube are flush with just one color each.

Chuck tries to tuck his shirt into his blue jeans.

What’s the prize this time? Ted glances up from the cube as he gently places it on the table. Better not be a tray of brownies again.

Hey, don’t diss the brownies. Those were fabu-lous, Chuck replies. They had nuts.

Besides, my mom made ‘em, so you know they’re awesome, I add.

Whatever, I just wanna find something good this time. Ted lays his hands over his hips.

Chuck smiles. You mean you didn’t like the Lite Brite you found at the lower Manhattan library?

How come I couldn’t find that Walkman, like Fred? In a dumpster no less?! Ted chuckles.

That Walkman became the talk of last month after our last scavenger hunt. Everyone wanted to trade me something for it. Chuck offered me a tee-shirt of Q-bert he had stuffed in the back of his closet. Ted sug-gested I give him the Walkman for a month while I use his library card to check out books like Treasure Island and Dr. Moreau, both of which he’s read and written reports on even though they weren’t required class assignments.

Sherry said she’d dance with me at her end-of-the-year school dance. The final dance before we’re shipped off to high school. I told her to let me use the Walkman for a month and then we had a deal.

By the way, where is Sherry? Ted asks, his eyes searching around the room.

And then in walks Sherry Slater—A.K.A. upper west side. How’d we meet, you might wonder, being from way up there? I tell you it was fate. The day we both rode the skytrain and bumped into each other. Taller than any of us, she stands about an inch over me. Full head of thick hair, the color of a bird’s nest. Thin form, too thin for some, but for me she’s just right. Blue eyes, more gorgeous than my greens. Her perfect skin a stark contrast to my sienna-freckled face. I swoon every time I see her, but I hide it well.

Are we heading out? It’ll get dark soon, Sherry suggests as she rubs her paint-stained fingers over her light blue jeans. I don’t see her in much else. She must own a gazillion pairs of light blue jeans.

Painting again? I ask, stepping toward the wall shelf for my Walkman.

Yeah, she answers, glancing at her colorful fin-gertips, I’m doing a painting of the sun.

Will you show me when you’re done?

She shrugs. Maybe; so we going?

I wave her to me with two fingers. After you lis-ten to this.

I slide the Walkman headphones over her ears and click the play button. I slipped in Tayler Dane’s Tell It to My Heart earlier because Sherry loves that song—ever since she heard it play on MTV’s ‘Blast to the Past ‘80s special’. She even crimped her hair that whole week, inspired by the video.

Immediately, Sherry pops up, her hands in the air, and her body swaying from side to side. Her hands go to her earphones as she holds the music closer to her ears and her foot thumps over the floor. She smiles in a leap as Tayler Dane gets to her chorus and Sherry grabs my hands. Jumping together, I pull one ear-phone to my ear and then we tap our feet and toes over the floor, sliding from one side of the room to the other, imagining we have rhythm enough to be in the video.

Then, I feel the tap on my shoulder, pulling me from my make-believe stardom. Chuck says, Let’s get going.

I click stop on the Walkman and pull the earphones off Sherry before sliding the Walkman back to the coveted shelf of collectables.

Okay, you know the rules, guys. I look into the eyes of each of my friends. You can take a picture of an item or you can find an item to take home, but it must be from the ‘80s and you must be back here be-fore sundown.

And winner gets? Ted asks.

A tray of home-baked chocolate cookies, I say with more enthusiasm than the cookies are worth, but we all know we don’t do this for the cookies. Go!

And with that one word, I grab Dad’s red fireman hat, and the four of us dart out of my room, down the stairs where Mom still in her apron and hair curlers shouts from the kitchen, Glad to see you getting out of your room, Fred, but be back before dinner!

We race down the outside steps to the cobblestone street where the games begin. I put Dad’s hat over my head. Now, I’m ready. Chuck and Ted wave goodbye with smiles as they head left. Sherry and I turn right. We do this with a partner for safety, but whoever finds the item keeps it. Last month I partnered with Chuck; the month before that I partnered with Ted, which means I love every third month of the year.

Come on, Fred! Sherry shouts at me as she takes the lead with her long, lean legs. She runs track at school too. She heads past several buildings that house families like my own, buildings that all look the same in a red brick, while I hesitantly peek in garbage cans as we go. You never know. Then we dart down a side road and another street for a bit until we hit the markets and pass Katz’s Delicatessen.

Do you think they’ve found anything yet? Sher-ry worries, and when she worries she gets a line be-tween her forehead, and her lips thin.

No, no way, too soon, I offer, besides we’ve got this one in the bag.

You think we should head to Chinatown? They might have something.

I say we head to Little Italy, gotta be more ‘80s around there than in China.

Sherry shrugs. It’s farther.

Working ants get the queen.

Don’t they just die or something?

I shrug and she huffs before she double-times it alongside me. By the time we get to Little Italy, yel-low, red and white umbrellas deck the streets as Ital-ian flags wave over restaurants. We head for the apartments. People are always throwing stuff out there. That’s where I found my Walkman last month. Ted and Sherry headed to Battery Park and didn’t find much before Ted made a detour to the library and took a photo of the Lite Brite in the children’s section. Still, I was declared winner with my find, but I did share the brownies.

Homes here are round on the corners and some of the side walls are decorated with graffiti art. That’s when Sherry stops and admires the colorfully painted woman in a splash of maroon, cherry and blueberry colors. She bends back as her gaze takes in all the magnificence.

You’ll get there, Sher, just keep at it.

She turns and smiles at me with a tap to my shoul-der. Her smile is like the air. I don’t realize I need it until I hold my breath and it’s not there anymore.

Then her smile disappears into high cheekbones and she darts off down the next side street lined with a few public trash cans. She looks at me, with that gaze that asks if anyone is looking.

I toss my head left and right before I nod at her. Go for it.

She drops one hand in and I lower my hand in at the other side, our heads moving like lighthouse bea-cons to keep guard. We don’t rummage through too much, just enough to tell if there is anything of scav-enger value in there.

Anything? I ask quickly.

Nothing, then she pauses, wait, a bag. She pulls out a large brown, crinkled, paper bag, and folds open the sides. Inside is just ripped bras. Nothing.

I push farther along the sidewalk, toward the alley.

Come on, down here. We might see something in one of those rooms worthy of a picture.

After all, Chuck had a picture of a Nintendo sys-tem all set up in someone’s house once last year. He won that month, a tray of pop tarts. Mom was busy at the hospital. A truck hit a school bus and a lot of kids were hurt, so she didn’t have time to bake.

The sides of the building are filled with clanky metal stairs that run in horizontal and diagonal fash-ion, but they give us a way to get up to the windows. At the bottom of one stair system, I lift Sherry up with her foot pressed against my cupped hands.

You got it?

She grabs the railing and pulls herself up. I can count on her, being a gymnast. When she’s stable, she lowers her hands to me and pulls me while my sneak-ers hit the side wall as I walk upward. My hands grab the rails and I swing myself over and onto the hori-zontal stair panel beside her.

Ready? I half-grin and she nods enthusiastically.

It’s about now I should tell you that Sherry comes from a very strict family. Her parents didn’t land in the upper west side by slacking off in life. Her father is a lawyer and her mother is a doctor. I know, my mom flipped when she heard the news last year when Sherry and I started hanging out more.

Needless to say, her parents don’t like it when she comes home with stains or rips in her clothes. A sure sign she’s been hanging out with me, and she’s not supposed to anymore. Not after we set off an alarm in a comic book store when we crawled through a win-dow after hours to get a better look at the human-sized Mario Brother figurine. The cops showed up and everything. It was embarrassing. Luckily, Dwight, the cop on duty, knew my father back in the day and let us off with a warning. The owner didn’t press charges either.

We scale the stairs like we’re something out of Spiderman, and in true obvious fashion, begin peeking through windows. Some have curtains which make our job harder, but windows toward the top of the building don’t, so we head for those. About three floors from the top, we get our first full glimpse inside someone’s apartment.

It’s decked out from head to toe with Italian leather. I know, because Mom always grates her nails on the walls when we pass stores with the same kind of leather—the kind she can’t afford, she says. Sofas, chairs, even a dining table all tell a story of a resident obsessed with all things Italian.

Look! I point, my bony forefinger on the glass, my eyes glued to the Atari set up against the wall.

Holy shit! Sherry sometimes forgets her lan-guage.

I give a gentle corrective glare and she clears her throat.

Sorry, I mean, wow!

What do you suppose a home like this uses an Atari for?

She bats her lashes and grins. Maybe for the same use you have one for?

But I’m thirteen, almost fourteen. The second part of the sentence is more of an emphasis to Sherry because she’s fourteen now. I cup my hands as I glance through the room’s window. I don’t see any evidence a kid lives here.

Sherry looks at the delicate looking vases on the fancy shelf that hold several glass figurines, and then her head swings to the marble statue that looks grave-ly expensive, and then to the oil painting on the wall.

You’re right; it looks more like a museum than a house, but who cares. We’re wasting time. Let’s get our pic and get out of here before we’re spotted.

I pull out my smart phone, the Xavier. Covering the length and width of my palm, it’s tiny, but effec-tive. Everything I need to do can be done with a sim-ple verbal command.

Xavier, camera mode.

The phone clicks a few times as if its shutter is readying