Another first draft section of The Devil's Kettle.

As the man opened his car door he was bathed in the dome light. Bald, tattoos on his neck and piercings in his lower lip helped distinguish him from what they would have considered to be a ‘normal’ visitor to the bridge at this time of night. He clutched a plastic bag when he emerged from the vehicle and covered the short distance separating them. He stood eight feet away.

The man gestured to a bench overlooking the Lester River. It was located twenty-feet to their left. In unison, all three bodies ambled to it.

He spoke. “I have it all. Show me the money.”

Hodges, held the briefcase he had bought at the Duluth Pack store earlier. He placed it on the bench. The dealer alarmed them at first when he reached inside of his jacket. They relaxed when he pulled out a tiny flashlight and flicked it on. When he reached down, unlatched the briefcase and raised the lid, shining the light inside to reveal the contents, Hodges acted. He withdrew the small caliber automatic and pointed it at the dealer who backed away a step with his hands raised.

“Shoulda known you weren’t for real. Stick me up for this?” He held the bag high. “You want it, you’re gonna have to swim for it.” He wound up to toss it in the river.

“We don’t want it,” Hodges said. The dealer stopped, confused. 

He looked at them. “What the hell do you want?”

“Information. Tell us what you know about Tom Hecimovich and the last time you saw or talked to him,” Hodges said.

“So this really does have something to do with Tom, huh? I was beginning to think it was just bullshit.”

Hodges gestured with the gun, a gesture that said, ‘just tell us about Tom, asshole’.

Mancoat and Hodges heard the unmistakable noise of a pump-action shotgun being readied for firing behind them.

“How dumb you fellas think I am that I’d come out here without backup. That sound you heard was Freddy with a sawed-off, twelve gauge shotgun a fixin’ to blow a hole the size of Rhode Island through you two.” The emerging moonlight shone in his eyes, giving an otherworldly look to an already strange looking human being.

Hodges betrayed no emotion while Mancoat’s body trembled. “It would appear that we have a standoff,” he said.

“A Mexican standoff, I’d say.  Ain’t that somethin’? Freddy, keep your gun on ‘em till we figure out what we’re gonna do.” He stood by  the bench, keeping his eyes on Mancoat and Hodges.

“We have a conundrum,” Hodges said. “May I propose a solution?”

“Got a few solutions myself, but you go first. I’m curious.” The dealer, flipped the brief case off the bench and sat down.

Hodges kept the automatic trained on him as he moved. “All right, why doesn’t…Freddy, come into view and we both lower our weapons, then, like civilized men, we can converse. Since we brought you out here on false pretenses we will reimburse you an appropriate amount of cash, after you answer our questions. In the end, everyone goes their separate ways.”

The dealer rubbed his lower back. “Sorry, I got a bad disc. The doctor says I might need surgery at some point, but, all I got is Obamacare, high deductibles, copays, you know the story. Anyway, I digress. What kind of reimbursement you talking about?”

“It depends upon the information you provide,” Hodges said. Mancoat tried not to reveal his nervousness.

“About Tom!”

“Yes, everything you know would be very appreciated.”

“Freddy,” the dealer yelled. “Get over here!” Freddy turned out to be female. In the partial light of the moon, she looked about thirty, fine figure with short, black hair. 

“Okay with you if we lower the guns on three?” 

Hodges nodded.

“Okay, one…two…three,” the dealer counted. Freddy and Hodges slowly lowered their weapons.

“Now, Tom was a unique individual. I liked him, but he was a little messed up.” 

That’s like this reprobate calling Al Capone a small time hood, Mancoat thought. 

The dealer continued. “I’ve known him for a long time, and I suspect he may not be with us anymore. I don’t think you guys know Tom. You got my number from somebody else or maybe you got into his paperwork and found my number. I don’t know. Personally, I think Tom’s dead. Doesn’t make any difference anymore. He was a small piece of my business. One thing, you want to know is that he always used the name Richard Gabrielson when he bought from me—kind of a kick at his adoptive parents I think.”

“So you didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance?” Hodges asked.

The dealer looked hurt. “That’s a big negatory; Tom was okay and we had a mutually beneficial relationship, but you learn to move on. Anyway, I’d check with his adoptive parents, maybe they finally got tired of his bullshit act and offed him.”

Change of title from, "Murder on the North Shore", to, "The Devil's Kettle".

Early in the evening at the Inn, Hodges and Mancoat were surprised by a knock at their door. Sheila Cadotte stood at the doorway holding a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Leinenkugel’s Creamy Dark. 

The grin across Mancoat’s face wouldn’t quit as he opened his arms wide and bowed as he showed her in.

“Ms. Cadotte, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company… and the liquid sustenance?” Hodges asked.

Cadotte giggled as she popped the cork on the bottle of cabernet she had brought for Hodges and twisted off the caps of two beers for her and Mancoat. 

Hodges went to the cupboard, found a cheap wine glass and held it out for Cadotte to pour. She did it with a smile and then showed him the label.

“Ah, Balnaves Cabernet Sauvignon, from Australia. A civilized choice, no doubt,” Hodges said

“Better be, I paid thirty-nine bucks for this stuff, Jasper…before tax.”

Hodges nodded in appreciation. “Well, thank you very much. Shall we sit at the table and discuss what the reason is for our apparent celebration?” He winked and edged himself into a chair.

Mancoat and Cadotte tipped their beers and joined him. 

“This is wonderful, Sheila. Creamy Dark is one of my favorites,” Mancoat said.

“Be truthful, Earl, they’re all you’re favorites,” Hodges quipped.

Cadotte placed her beer on the table and went to her bag. She held several copies of news articles in her hands and spread them on the table evenly. “Read through these, wait, on second thought, that would take too long, I’ll summarize for you. The long and the short of it, god I love that expression, don’t you?” she said. Neither Hodges or Mancoat responded, but only stared at her.

“Well, guess, the feeling is not mutual on the expression,” she said. Hodges sighed and rapped his fingers on the table. She took note and continued. “I started looking into the past articles about the disappearances of all three of the victims, some of which I had written, and looked at possible links between the three people.” 

Mancoat was getting excited, “And you found some! What are they?”

The smile disappeared from Cadotte’s face and her expression changed to a cringe. “Well, not exactly links between the victims where they knew each other,” she said.

“I am confused,” Hodges said as he stopped rapping his knuckles on the table and placed his chin in his hand and rested his elbow on the table. “Was it another person they had in common, that they all knew?”

Cadotte’s smile returned. “Possibly,” she said in a teasing voice.

Mancoat popped in. “Somebody, we ran into as we’ve talked to people?”

Cadotte’s extended her hands and did a wavering motion, palm up, palm down while she tilted her head from side to side.

“Someone we should interview that we haven’t thought of yet?” Hodges guessed, feeling embarrassed that he had been sucked into a twenty-question guessing game. Cadotte hesitated in her response.

A frustrated Mancoat blurted, “Come on, tell us what you got, Sheila. Seth’s out there, maybe still alive.”

Sheila put her hands down and sat on her chair. “Okay, okay.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t resist having a little fun. This is what I’ve got.” She plucked three articles from the pile and placed them separately from the others. “Each of these articles is about one of the victims. So, there’s one about Seth, the most recent, one about Cassie Bandleson, the second person to disappear, and the first one to go missing, Tom Hecimovich.” She looked at Mancoat and Hodges. They both looked back with expressions that said, ‘get on with it’. “Well, it turns out that all three victims, uh, missing persons, might have stayed at the North Star Motel.” She winked and smiled.

Mancoat’s mouth opened and stayed open for several moments until he said, “That’s it, that’s the link? Might have stayed at the North Star Motel? And why do you say might have stayed at the North Star Motel? I don’t understand how you get a might out of your articles, and how a might, helps us!”

Hodges, ignoring Mancoat, leaned back and appeared to contemplate what Cadotte had said. “Explain further, Ms. Cadotte… please.”

Cadotte dug underneath the larger stack of articles and found a topographical map. She pointed. “Here’s the lake in Tettegouch where Hecimovich supposedly fell out of the boat and was swept down to Lake Superior.” Her finger traced a pathway two miles away where Hodges and Mancoat had postulated that Bandleson could have been abducted, but then her finger traced the thirty miles back to Palisade Head where they thought Seth Tryton had been last known to have visited. “And then, look at the location of the North Star Motel, it’s pretty much in the middle of the three disappearances.”

Austin Public Library Event

I'll be attending a Page Turner's event in Austin on April 28. Allen Eskers will be presenting and reading from one of his novels. I recently read his first book, The Life We Bury. It was a terrific read and I'm looking forward to listening, asking questions, and gaining insight about his writing process.

I believe that the writers' group I'm in will be involved in a workshop he will put on the same day.  Looking forward to the entire day.

Writer groups

I just wanted to touch base with you if you're an aspiring writer. A little advice to you if you're interested. Do join a writer's group or start one with some of your like-minded friends. It is a great way to bounce your writings off of others, get feedback, and form friendships. It is also valuable from the perspective of giving feedback to other writers. It makes you a better writer and communicator.

The next section of "Murder on the North Shore"

Cassie bounced out of the driver’s seat and snatched her pre-loaded pack from the trunk: a couple bottles of water, two energy bars, and a banana taken from the motel. She strapped it on as she ascended the trail. 

A cooling breeze slapped her in the face as she came to an overlook of the forest and Lake Superior a mile away. She never tired of this. Walking on the Superior Hiking Trail was one of the diversions that took her mind off her incomplete life; a life without relatives: parents, sisters, brothers, cousins. She had no known bloodline. It saddened and frightened her. 

Was her whole family dead? Or was Tom Hecimovich right? He said there had to be someone, and he knew how to find out. Cassie knew nothing! Tom had done it. He found his biological parents and they were wonderful. They changed his life forever. She wanted the same thing, a life altering event. She needed a change in her life. Cassie had friends, but as she had discovered, friends were transitory, here today and gone tomorrow. 

Family is there forever. 

She knew she had to have family somewhere, and Tom had promised to help her find them. She couldn’t grasp how important he had become to her. If only… if only Tom hadn’t vanished. 

Why? 

A switch went off in her head, and for the moment, she swept all thoughts of Tom and family away. 

Just be…live in the moment. Look at the world around me. She watched a nut hatch work its way down the trunk of a tree, beak first. A gray squirrel scurried across the path in front of her, almost running over her toes in the process. Cassie laughed. Be in the moment, enjoy what I have right now.

After an hour of hiking, she came to the next trailhead and decided to walk farther. She was the only person on this section of the trail, she thought.

At the next viewing point, she looked toward Lake Superior. Fog enveloped the lake, threatening to kiss the shore and penetrate the forest where she hiked. Cassie had no desire to hike in the soupy mixture drifting toward her. She tossed a look at it, then turned and started back. The fog moved quickly, enveloping the forest around her. She was thankful for the clearly defined trail, but even so, the pace of her hike quickened.

“Hellooo,” came a call.

She heard the voice in front of her. She said nothing, but the voice sliced the fog again.

Maybe someone was in trouble, lost or frightened. 

“Hello,” she called back with a reluctance and fear that made her feel ashamed.

They called back and forth, eventually meeting near a feeder trail.

“I’m sorry I might have scared you in this soup, but I was concerned when I noticed the fog drifting in from the lake,” said Karonen.

Cassie flashed a puzzled look. 

“How did you know I was up here?”

“Sorry, I should have explained that. I had just gotten off the trail where you parked and was sitting in my car when I saw you climb up the path like you really meant business. You seemed so intent on moving fast that you probably never saw me.” 

Cassie shook her head a little.

“I didn’t see anybody, and you’re right I was intent on getting up the trail. So you followed me up here?”

“Not quite, I drove to where I knew this spur was and hiked up here, hoping to find you.” He paused, sensing that he was frightening her. “Look, I knew the forecast called for fog, and I was just concerned that you might get lost, fall down, or get hurt. I didn’t know if you were a novice or experienced hiker and just…I have a daughter and…well, I wouldn’t want my daughter out, alone, in this stuff.” He looked at her sheepishly, hoping his explanation would convince her and loosen her skepticism.

Cassie wanted to believe him. The old man looked harmless enough and he sounded sincere.

“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’ve hiked this trail before.” She looked around them.  “Although, never in fog like this.”

“No pressure here, but my car is at the end of this spur. You could hike down with me and Ill give you a ride back to your car, and you could be on your way again. I wouldn’t wish walking the next three miles on anyone, much less a young woman like yourself.” 

She bit her lip, hesitating.

“I would feel much better if you came with me,” he said, playing his position for all it was worth.

Cassie didn’t feel comfortable saying what she said next, but she didn’t want to hurt the old man by acting afraid of him. She looked around again. The fog had grown denser, shrouding everything in the forest and making the old man’s face difficult to read.

“It’s a kind offer and I’ll take you up on it.” 

Karonen smiled, and said, “Good, I think we should get going before we can’t even see each other.” They both laughed. 

She was impressed by the old man’s nimbleness as he led the way down the narrow spur until it opened onto the gravel road. Karonen gestured toward the truck, which was barely discernible. “Your carriage awaits.”

A tight laugh leeched from her mouth and she walked toward the pickup. Karonen readied himself. When Cassie was twenty feet from the truck, she slowed, and a chill blanketed her body. Something inside of her: instinct, fear, distrust, cried out, run, run! Her breathing quickened as she started to run, too late. Karonen enveloped her in a bearhug, pinning her arms at her side. She screamed, but no one could hear. 

Austin Magazine article

If you are out and about in Austin, check out the lounge areas in banks, dental offices and doctors' waiting areas for the Austin Magazine.
One of the articles is a story about the writers' group I am in.  The story outlines how our group works and does a little bio on the members.

The fisherman stirred as Karonen hefted him onto the bed. I’ll have to hurry, he told himself. The chain and clamps, necessary to retain his guest in a controlled state until he could convince him of taking on the task willingly, were in a heap, ten feet away. He retrieved the end with the clamp and deftly placed it around the man’s ankle and clasped it shut. The key dangled from a ring on the wall several feet outside of the chamber. The man moved some more. Karonen left and returned a minute later with a pitcher of water and a glass, which he placed on the table next to the bed. He’ll be waking up soon. He backed away from the bed and assumed a position near the doorway of the chamber. A comfortable recliner awaited him there. He would wait.

Five minutes passed before Hecimovich stirred again and stretched his hands up and over his head. His eyelids seemed sticky as they opened. It took a few attempts to get rid of the gooey feeling and his vision to become operable enough to view his surroundings.

He was confused as he silently tried to make sense of his surroundings. Hecimovich slid both of his legs off the side of the bed and let his muddy tennis shoes dangle over the side. His hands gripped the bed on both sides of his legs. He looked around and spotted Karonen sitting in a chair by the open doorway of his…It reminded him of a dungeon.

“What happened to me?” Hecimovich asked in a wavering voice.

Karonen acted as if he didn’t know what to say, but finally spoke. “You’re a guest in my home. Everything will be all right.” 

Hecimovich shuddered and then said, “This doesn’t look like a home, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing things right; it looks like a cave.” He rubbed his now closed eyes with one hand. “I feel like I’m dreaming.” Hecimovich pulled his hand away from his face and appeared to look Karonen in the eyes. “Am I?”

Karonen stared back and answered quietly. “No sir…You’re not dreaming.”

For the first time, Hecimovich noticed the clamp around his left leg and jerked it upward. The abruptness of the motion and the clang of the chains startled Karonen. He jumped to his feet.

“Please, if you relax, it will be better,” Karonen said.

Hecimovich’s eyes had changed from unfocused and drowsy to wild and desperate. “You, you did this to me. I helped you, and you did this.” His head turned from one side to the other with an urgency and fearfulness he had never known. “You’ve got to let me out of here! Why are you doing this? What do you want?” Hecimovich rushed to where Karonen stood, but was jerked back by the short chain and fell forward. Pain wracked his ankle when the clamp cut into his skin. He was just a few feet away from Karonen. 

Karonen pleaded, “Please, I will explain everything, but I need you to calm down, and listen. Please, I need your help!” 

Hecimovich, who lay face down on the floor with his arms outstretched in front of him, clawed furiously at the earth, trying to get to Karonen, who didn’t move a centimeter. Hecimovich continued clawing and yelling until Karonen kneeled and brought himself too close to the fisherman’s grasp. A stab outward and Hecimovich’s hand clamped onto Karonen’s wrist with the force of an electric eel. Yelling and thrashing, and now pulling Karonen closer, Hecimovich felt a surge of adrenalin. He had the older man frightened and desperate. 

Karonen yelped, “No, wait, wait. I need your help. I’m not going to hurt you!”

“I know you won’t you bastard,” Hecimovich yelled. He almost had Karonen’s ankle in his other hand and felt more confident than ever he was going to free himself. Hecimovich had pulled Karonen close enough that he could rise to his knees and increase his leverage. Suddenly, Karonen changed tactics and launched himself forward and smashed his body into Hecimovich’s. Karonen ended on top of him and pummeled Hecimovich’s face with his free hand. The fisherman released his grip on Karonen’s wrist and tried to protect his face, but Karonen had entered the fight or flight mode and now delivered blow after blow to Hecimovich’s face. 

There was one last hurrah left in Hecimovich and he tried to kick the chain attached to his leg over Karonen and tangle him in it. Karonen pulled Hecimovich’s hair, lifting his head off the rock floor, and then smashed his head back down several times. Karonen released the younger man’s head and powered his fists again and again into Hecimovich’s face.