Florida Grand Theft and Other Tales: Crime and Sci-fi Short Stories

By John G. Bluck

"Florida Grand Theft & Other Tales" is a collection of sixteen crime and science fiction short stories.
Some of the tales are strictly fictional crime stories. Others are solely in the science fiction genre. Many other yarns combine both crime and sci-fi genres.

Here are headlines from the crime stories in this volume:
"Florida Grand Theft" -- A purse is a tempting target for a lady unable to pay rent.
"BART and Ernie" -- A grocery cashier confronts crime on a BART train.
"One in a Billion Women" -- A wily hacker raids election computers in New York City.
"Death by Snub Nose" -- A hobo is accused of murder with weighty evidence against him.
"Tragedy in Tahoe" -- A horrific crime takes place at Lake Tahoe.
"Operation Laser Eye" -- Police relentlessly track troubled teens.
"Ribs of a Pig" -- A new crime-scene technician seeks to impress a young woman.

Here are headlines from the science fiction stories in this book:
"Robot Man" -- Will a robot body save a sick man’s life?
"The Potential President" -- An unlikely candidate runs for president of the U.S.
"Big Brother's Bracelets" -- As a deadly virus plagues Earth, a feuding couple adjusts their lives.
"Buzz" -- A robotic bee is a key undercover agent.
"The DNA of History" -- Ant-sized extraterrestrials visit a boy, affecting his entire life.
"Adventures in Time" -- An astronaut sends a dispatch as his ship careens toward a black hole.
"Until Death Do Us Part" -- Micro-robots play a key role in a crime.
"The Amazing Mr. Smith" -- A young man with a hairy body copes with his condition.
"Mr. GoodBot" -- A brainy, talking robot helps a pair of people start a business.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John G. Bluck
• Release date: Oct 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737136026

John G. Bluck

John G. Bluck retired from NASA as a public affairs officer. Previously, he was the Chief of Imaging Technology at NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, Calif. Before that, he worked at NASA Lewis (now Glenn) Research Center, Cleveland, Ohio, where he produced numerous NASA documentaries for television. Earlier in his career he was a broadcast engineer for the ABC radio network at WMAL-AM/FM, Washington, DC. At WMAL-TV (now WJLA-TV), in Washington he was a news film cameraman who covered local news, crime, sports, and politics including Watergate. In 1976 he was named the National Press Photographer's Association runner-up cameraman of the year in the Northeast. In addition, he was a member of the White House News Photographers’ Association. During the Vietnam War he was an Army journalist at Ft. Lewis, Washington.

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Florida Grand Theft & Other Tales

By John G. Bluck

Copyright 2021 John G. Bluck

Published by John Bluck’s Art & Writing

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Produced in the United States of America

First Published, 2021

ISBN: 978-1-7371360-2-6

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

CRIME SECTION

Florida Grand Theft

BART and Ernie

One in a Billion Women

Death by Snub Nose

Tragedy in Tahoe

Operation Laser Eye

Ribs of a Pig

SCIENCE FICTION SECTION

Robot-Man

The Potential President

Big Brother’s Bracelets

Buzz

The DNA of History

Adventure in Time

Until Death Do Us Part

The Amazing Mr. Smith

Mr. GoodBot

A Potpourri of Poetry

About John G. Bluck

Connect with John G. Bluck

Say What You Think

Acknowledgements

First and foremost I am thankful to my wife, Sheryl, for expressing her opinions about the stories in this book and for correcting my grammar and spelling. She is a retired English teacher.

In addition, members of the California Writers Club Tri-Valley Chapter suggested ways to improve my stories. Some of those people include Eloise Hamann, Patricia Boyle, Gary Kumfert, and Shelley Riley.

Dedication

Dedicated to my wife, Sheryl, and to my daughters, Christina and Melody, along with Melody’s husband, Matthew Ring, and their children, Ethan Thomas and Autumn Sierra

CRIME SECTION

Florida Grand Theft

Copyright 2019 John G. Bluck

It was about 9:00 p.m. and chilly for the Miami area. I was in the All Day Sales store near the Dadeland North Station to buy a sandwich with the last of my cash. My stomach was aching for food. As I walked toward the café, I saw a medium-sized purse in a shopping cart. The owner was nowhere in sight. Maybe she was in the next aisle? I had hardly any money, and the rent was past due. Being desperate for cash, I pulled my black sweatshirt’s hood over my head, grabbed the purse, draped it over my shoulder, and walked slowly toward the exit.

I figured that a woman like me with a big Afro, wearing second-hand clothes, and rushing out of the store would stand out, so I took my time leaving.

A scream jolted me.

Stop, thief! A heavy-set woman waddled toward me. The one near the door!

I pulled my hood down and hid my face with my right hand, as I ran the last few feet toward the automatic door, which swung open. I sprinted through a department store and into the parking lot and the darkness of the night, hoping security cameras didn’t get a good picture of my face. Near a streetlamp I glanced into the purse and saw a wad of cash, four loose hundred-dollar bills, and a big diamond ring. That scared me because I knew that stealing more than $300 in Florida was at least third degree grand theft, good for up to five years in the clink and maybe even a $5,000 fine. And my kid would probably go into foster care.

My goal was to get on the next Metro Rail train, which was due to stop at the Dadeland North Station in a few minutes as best as I could remember.

This was the first and only time I had stolen money to make ends meet. I was working at a burger place. It wasn’t great money, but it was honest coin.

My name is Daisy Dunn. I’m twenty-nine and a single mom. Unlike me, my live-in boyfriend at the time, Joe Blackwell, stole anything he could lay his hands on to support his drug habit. He was addicted to pain killers, mostly Oxycodone. I don’t know if he’s still alive or not.

I had kicked Carlos out the week before. He raided my purse of all my rent money and my one-and-only credit card, which he charged to the max. My son, Roscoe, was twelve. I couldn't be homeless. I didn’t even have a car to sleep in. I had food stamps, and I guess I could’ve found a food bank, if there was one nearby. But I needed a roof over my head.

#

As I fled, a fat security guard saw me running. I was out of breath already—mostly from fear. I looked behind me and saw the dude whip out a two-way radio and start talking into it, as he switched on a heavy flashlight. Good thing he fumbled the flashlight and dropped it. He was slow to pick it up. Thank God. I scampered toward Southwest 84th Street. I could see the guard’s flashlight moving back and forth, as he ran toward me kind of sluggish. I imagined being in jail. I ran faster.

I crossed 84th and turned right toward a tall building. There was a pizza place on the corner of a parking lot, which I ran for. I moved along the big building past a dry cleaner’s shop toward the Snapper Creek Canal. I heard a helicopter. I looked up and saw a police chopper. It was still pretty far away, but a spotlight on the helicopter turned on, and the police were flying toward me. I wasn’t sure if I was their target. But to be safe, I decided not to go toward the Southwest 70th Avenue Bridge. It was around the far side of the building, which stood along the canal.

If the police chopper were after me, the cops would be shining their light on the bridge because that was the closest way toward the rail station, just across the canal.

I reached into the purse to grab the money and ring. Then I thought better of it. I decided to dump the purse and the loot in the canal. I turned and peeked back around the corner of the big building. The private cop, as fat as he was, was getting too close. I was trapped next to the canal. Maybe I would take the money, anyway. I jammed my hand in the purse. The heavy broad who owned the purse carried all kinds of stuff in it. I felt a plastic straw. Lucky. I kept the straw and tossed the purse in the water under the bridge.

I heard the guard’s heavy footsteps around the corner of the building. I slipped slowly into the water. It smelled like one big BM. Maybe alligators were in there? Uh-oh, I thought. I had just seen a TV program about ‘gators and how one bit the leg off a small child who wandered too close to a canal. I began to shiver, not just ‘cuz the canal water was cold for Miami and not ‘cuz it smelled like a big lizard’s poop, but ‘cuz I thought I could become ‘gator food.

I put the straw in my mouth, took a deep breath, held my nose, and slipped under the water. The obese guard rounded the building near the edge of the water. I opened my eyes under water, and they stung. I saw a flashlight beam shining toward and then under the bridge. I couldn’t hear much from under the surface, but I was close to shore. I barely heard the guard’s feet plod along the canal toward the bridge. I waited, and I sucked air into my mouth through the straw, hoping a hissing noise wouldn’t alert the fat man.

But even with the air from the straw going down my throat, my lungs were burning. I had a panic attack. I pushed my head above the water and took a deep breath. The cops’ chopper blades were going clop, clop, clop, the sound getting really loud. I saw the guard’s flashlight as he moved across the bridge above me. Then a very bright beam of light raced toward me across the water. It was the helicopter’s spotlight. I took a deep breath and pulled my head below the waterline.

#

My mind raced. I recalled a TV crime show. The cops’ helicopter in the show had infrared cameras that could see body heat. I had to stay under the water when the chopper was above me.

Each time the helicopter flew up the canal and the spotlight followed the water away from me, I stuck my head up for a breath. The straw was almost useless.

Then I saw a ‘gator on the shore. He was as long as two tall men. I kept still. I considered getting out of the water and surrendering to the police, if they came by. They could shoot the monster. Its teeth gleamed in the spotlight. I quietly dipped below the water and opened my eyes. They stung. The ‘gator slid into the canal about twenty feet from me and swam away. I felt relief.

Two cops approached. I submerged. I hoped they wouldn’t see the straw, if they looked into the canal. The cops’ flashlight beams wobbled as they went along the canal and climbed up onto the bridge.

#

I worked my way along the canal, treading water, shoving my head below the sewage-like liquid every time the police helicopter returned. I had no idea how long I was in the canal, but it felt like an eternity. I thought I’d die from the cold. My hands and feet were numb. Finally, the chopper didn’t come back, and I got out of the water. I smelled like crap. I had to call somebody to pick me up. But who?

#

I dragged myself onto the canal bank and hid in bushes. I squeezed as much water from my clothes as I could without taking them off. I looked around. I saw no police and no pedestrians. I decided not to walk back toward the shopping area. I followed the path the guard and cops had taken onto the bridge. I thought the police would be sitting in a squad car looking for me, or maybe there was a cop in the depot, watching for a black woman with a big Afro. I neared the railroad station, terrified that I would be going to jail. An old man with a cane was standing near the pedestrian entrance of the station’s multi-story parking lot.

Sir, I said. May I use your phone? I was dripping wet. I smelled of sewage.

What happened to you, dear? he asked. His eyes were stretched wide. You get mugged and shoved in the canal?

No, I was fishing. I slipped in. I’d like to call a friend so she can pick me up.

The man wrinkled his nose. Stretching his arm, he slowly handed me his mobile phone.

#

Mrs. Cobb arrived in her old car. She had spread a tarp in the passenger seat. I had told her that I was soaked to the skin. Thanks, Mrs. Cobb, I said. I dropped my purse into the water and lost it. So, all my money’s gone.

You say you were fishing, dear? Mrs. Cobb looked at me like I was nuts. Why were you there at night when it’s dark, and you could slip?

They say the fish bite better at night, I said. I need to get a little more protein for Roscoe. He’s a growing boy. He eats like a horse.

Yeah, I know the problem. Little Elsa just had her fifth birthday, and she’s growing like a weed. But I need to see to my real estate business on the weekends. I’ve been looking into child care, and it costs an arm and a leg.

It costs as much for people to watch kids as you get for working full time, I said. I was wondering when Mrs. Cobb would ask me for the back rent money. She was nice, but she wasn’t rich, even if she was in better financial shape than I was.

Child care places are committing a crime, Mrs. Cobb said. Look, I know you’re hard up for cash since you lost your purse tonight. So, I got a proposition for you. I’ll forget about the back rent due, if you agree to watch Elsa on weekends, and other times, too.

You’re so kind, I said. Weekends work for sure.

What about other times during the week?

I was thinking of quitting the burger place, if I could drive for a ride-share company. But I don’t have a car.

Look, honey, to be honest, I’m desperate. I’ll also cut your rent cost in half. She paused. You know my husband Jake died two years ago, right?

Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry he died so young.

Well, his twenty-year-old jalopy is sitting in the garage, and I didn’t get around to selling it. Actually, it runs like a charm. Not worth much because it’s got a lot of miles. If I sell it to you cheap, would you watch Elsa other times when I’m showing houses?

Yes, ma’am, I said. I choked up. You saved my life, Mrs. Cobb.

Nonsense, darling. You saved mine.

#

Within a few days I quit the burger place. I started to drive for the ride-share company when I wasn’t babysitting little Elsa. I was never tempted to steal again. I learned a lesson that cold night in the canal that crime doesn’t pay except when big child care places charge high fees.

-End-

BART and Ernie

Copyright 2019 John G. Bluck

My name is Lucy Crow. I want to prove to girls and women that we may be the gentler sex, but that’s no reason for us to be shoved around. And guys—just ‘cause a woman can defend herself doesn’t mean she’s someone to shun. I’m not anti-male. My best friend is a forty-five-year-old man, an ex-Army guy. More details about him later.

A year ago I learned I was stronger than I looked or felt. Here’s how I discovered it. One day I got a jury summons to go to the Oakland Rene C. Davidson Courthouse. As usual, instead of serving as a juror at the courthouse in Pleasanton, the town next to Livermore, I had to travel many more miles to Oakland during rush hour. The only reasonable way to go there is by BART—the Bay Area Rapid Transit system—trains that travel both above and below ground.

I was upset about the jury summons, but I knew I had thirty days before I would have to get up early, walk to the new Livermore BART station, and travel to the Lake Merritt Station in Oakland for a walk to the courthouse. I knew there were few eateries there where I could get a decent lunch. That’s a bummer because the midday meal is my big reward before I go to work at a food store. I’m at a register from 1:00 p.m. to 9:30 p.m.

Why was I working in a grocery store rather than as a secretary—which I used to be? Early on, men stared at me instead of listening to me. That sort of thing happened after my chest started to fill out when I was a teenager. My former boss, Mr. Leaf, was more interested in boobs than brains. That’s why he hired me to be his secretary at Leaf’s Construction.

After I worked fifteen years for Mr. Leaf, he met a pretty young thing. Now, she’s got my job.

I better get back to the story. As I was saying, besides the hassle, I didn’t want to go to Oakland because there weren’t any decent lunch places. Yeah, it’s stupid, but I just gotta have a good, tasty lunch.

Okay, you’re right. I was not only irritated about having to go to Oakland because of the early hour, long BART ride, and a no-good lunch. I was livid because I might well have to do the courtroom routine for days, if I had to be a murder trial juror. There’s lots of crime in Oakland. It’s because of drugs, street people, thugs, robbers, murderers, and sassy teens who invade BART stops.

In fact, I had just seen a cellphone video on the TV news the very morning that the mailman delivered my summons. A bunch of teenagers had rushed onto the train stopped at the Colosseum Station. In seconds they ran through the car, snatched cell phones from lots of people, and ran out of the doors before the train left the station. It’s a sick world.

I calmed down after I cooked lunch, enjoyed it, and walked to my job at the food store. I tried to feel better by thinking that having a sparse lunch in Oakland would do me some good. I wanted to lose ten pounds to come down to my normal weight of 127.

#

It was nearly the end of my shift. There weren’t many customers at 9:00 p.m. My mind was wandering. I was thinking about that jury summons again. I wanted to put it off, but I had done that last year when I requested a delay for eleven months. You can only do that once until you get the next summons. I had forgotten that I’d put off jury duty. I should’ve written the date on my calendar, but I live life in the here and now.

My mind elsewhere, I was staring into space, as I stood behind the counter at the register.

Excuse me, a deep male voice said. I saw a man about forty-five who looked to be six feet tall. Some gray streaked his short, black hair. He had already placed a dozen items on the counter’s conveyor. Funny I didn’t notice him ‘til he spoke.

Huh, I said, unladylike. Sorry, I was thinking about a jury summons I got today.

You in trouble?

No, I gotta be a juror. I put them off once, but now I have to go to the Oakland Courthouse by BART, get up early—you know. It’s a hassle.

Yeah, I get it, the man said.

And I saw on TV today that a bunch of people got robbed of their cell phones by a gang of teenagers. They got away. It happened at the Colosseum stop.

I saw that, too, the man said. That’s the way the world is. He smiled. I thought he liked me. My gut told me it wasn’t for my chest or legs. He didn’t look like he was in a hurry. The store was nearly deserted. I decided to chat. I’m allowed to do that because I divorced my husband ten years ago. I caught him in bed with the sweet young thing from the apartment next door. I’m forty-five now, and if a man seems okay, I’m willing to learn a bit more about him. For my age I look okay. I like to keep my hair dyed blond without the roots showing. I wear neatly pressed clothes, even if they’re cheap. I have a few good outfits, though. Back to my story.

I guess I would’ve tried to trip up one of those teenagers, if they tried to rob me, I said. I like watching the Angela Rogers TV talk show. They had a self-defense expert on. She said the best thing to do is to stick out your foot, pull on their shoulders. Trip them.

I’d say the best defense is offense, the man said. Actually, I recently started a self-defense school over on Concannon near Holmes next to The House of Physical Therapy.

I know the physical therapy place. I did Pilates there, I said. You’re in the new building west of that?

Correct. I just got out of the Army, so I decided that for a second career, I’d do what I know best.

That explains why you’re fit, I said. I was embarrassed that I had blurted that out. The man had bulging muscles, wore a tee-shirt. That’s why I saw his tattoos. His hair was short—a crew cut, but almost all his hair on the sides of his head had been cut off. It looked good, though.

He studied me for about a second, then said, Best thing you could do, if a big guy came at you, would be to poke him in the eye, and then poke his other eye. Then get away.

Wish I knew more, I said, automatically.

I’d give you a free lesson before you have to take BART again, if your court date isn’t too soon.

Maybe, I said. What’s your name, by the way?

I’m Ernie Moffat.

Lucy Crow, I said. I held my hand across the counter, and we shook.

When are you off?