The Perfect Man

Sorry folks, Chapter 13 of The Builder has to make way for a real flash fiction piece. I haven't written something like this in some time, so forgive me if it's a little rough.

***

As she walked through the front door, grocery bags in tow, she wondered if he was home. She had seen his car parked outside – as clean and pristine as ever. Not quite knowing what she should say when she saw him, she stopped calling out to him when she realised there was not going to be a response.

“Desperate and despondent,” he had said when asked to describe how he felt. She repeated the phrase to herself, knowing that she somehow could relate to what he was going through. She placed her hand bag in the living room, deposited her shoes in the shoe cupboard, and carried the groceries to the kitchen lining each item of possession up in a row, just how he liked it.

She moved upstairs, her hand running along the spotless balustrade of the staircase – it was truly fine oak wood. The marble staircase gave the house Victorian charm – or at least he thought it did. She had always felt it was ostentatious and pretentious. He never really did care how she felt. Tomorrow she decided she would drop a hammer on the sparkling floor, just to cause distress.

Entering their bedroom which also reeked of old, grandiose dreams she began to undress as usual, as she had done every day of every week of every month of every year for the past twelve years of marriage. As she removed her earrings she walked towards their marbled bathroom, with two separate sinks, by his choice; lest she introduced her filth into his private space.

She pushed open the door and saw him. Inanimate. Lifeless. Eyes open, staring at her with blame. His body lay as neatly as it possibly could have. The water in the tub was darkened with maroon-coloured water. There was a plastic packet, on the corner of the tub. He had even remembered to rinse it out and dry it before placing it in the bag after using it. There was a note, perfectly plastered to the side of the tub. Not a wet spot of water on it, since it had been laminated. He always did love laminating important documents. Claimed it kept things clear, when the mind was muddy.

She read out loud, knowing he would expect her to do so. “The blood will begin to stain after the water has been drained. Rinse with vinegar to prevent said stains. Dispose of the blade in the sharps bin; be careful not to touch it. I would greatly appreciate it if the people from the coroner’s office did not dirty the house. Be sure to clean it after they have removed me. I have left dinner for you in the fridge. Much love.”

“Much love, my husband. Much love. Goodbye then. Can’t say this came as a surprise but you’ve even managed to perfect death.”




Wipe the look of shock off your face, especially those of you who know me. I've always been morbid, can't change that! Help me promote this blog, will you? Leave me a comment, I'll definitely reply, give me some feedback. Tell your friends it's time to start reading - even if it'll depress the crap out of them. Much love, my friends.

Will most prolly post Chapter 13 up on Tuesday, 03/08/2010 - Cheers!

Read older chapters of The Builder here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

And just to scare the crap out of you, I present The Nightmare. Came to mind when I was having a cup of coffee at The Coffee Grounds, in Somerset ;)

I see a hole in the wall. I walk toward it. I place my hand in it. I am sucked into it, arms flailing. Not quite remembering how or where I landed, I ran. Time warp. I am sitting in the park. There is a monkey in the corner of a bedroom. I am falling. Time warp. He looked at me. I smiled. He reached for my neck. I screamed. He laughed. He flung me across the room. There is a monkey in the corner of the bathroom. Time warp. I am lost. I am crying. It is dark. I am trapped in the cupboard. There is a monkey in the cupboard. Time warp. I realise I am dreaming. Wake me up. Wake me up. Wake me up.

Cheers, to Henry Fuseli and his painting, The Nightmare, 1781.

Dining by Dynaco

Here it is, folks. Chapter 12, just out of the oven. It's a heavy bun this time, hope it doesn't bore you too much, but it's a very important chapter. Missed a chapter or two? Read them here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11

***

Jake had always known welding was not an easy job - he did not expect anything to come easy, but he really could not come to terms with what he was about to do. Flipping the protective visor and donning a pair of really snug-fitting gloves – Jo claimed they were flame-proof, flame-retardant, self-cooling, heat-proof, tear-proof and idiot-proof, the ultimate Wanda-Glove. Must be another one of the government’s best kept secrets, like the fancy sand-polymer, the PTI and of course, a multi-fitted nuclear weapons delivery system, he figured.


Life could not get any more confusing. He had spent the whole of last night reading up on Dynaco and land development laws. Dynaco had recently been the talk of the town, with mentions in every single newspaper, economics and finance magazine, politico-blogs and all forms of media. It was no surprise that Chris had picked up on it. He had even asked the right people about it.

A land developing company that had only recently started making the news, it seemed that most media companies did not even know much about it. What they did know, however, was that it was American-owned and it was going up in flames. Not a single public figure headed the company, and most statements were released via an official spokesperson – and he/she/it was never present or seen.

Dynaco took credit for some of the most massive developments in the country, dating back to the early 1900s, when America was growing its fastest. The elusive company had survived the Great Depression, two world-wars, multiple economic crashes, Iraq, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden, the sub-prime mortgage crisis, it was like one of those strange, weird companies that never died out or even suffered a dent, kind of like the company that made post-it notes, Jake mused comically. Now it was going up in flames, as stated by the mysterious spokesperson - the elusive spokesperson. All correspondence was via radio-interviews and net-based transmissions. He did not even know where their head office was.

Conspiracy theorists claimed that Dynaco was just a shell company co-owned by the DOD, NORAD, SITE – which he had learned stood for Search for International Terrorist Entities, an intelligence group, and the Pentagon Force Protection Agency. What puzzled Jake, however, was the link between land acquisition, its development and all these violent-sounding agencies and companies. And how 1 trillion dollars of “unsupported accounting entries” was tied into it. And where had these theorists learned about this connection? Was it pure conjecture? Why was everything shrouded in mystery? It was all beginning to look like some kind of fiction novel written by some spook who was previously in employ of the government now bitter about how he had been “terminated”.

Grunting with confusion, he began welding the first part of the weapons casing. According to Jo, any nuclear “bomb” under the weight of 2.4 tonnes and within the dimensions of the pay-load carrier would be mounted onto and into the weapons-delivery. It was truly a remarkable feat. A multi-fitted weapons delivery device, designed to help the nasties ease the problem of having to build the bomb and the delivery system. He wondered if it was Jo’s idea, since she was the only weapons expert and particle physicist in the team.

The first part to be built would be the mounting base, for which Jo had provided detailed schematics and dimensions. The mounting base would serve to hold the pay-load carrier. James created the world’s first guided air-to-land nuclear-weapons delivery system, according to Fallon. Jake had learnt early on in the project that most air-to-land nuclear bombs were delivered with the darling help of gravity, also called free-fall bombing. The concept was simple enough; fly over the area of intended bombing and drop the bomb. What James had designed was a specific end-point for the bomb delivery, kind of like how fighter jets fixed onto their moving targets and used missiles on them. Aerial bombing had not looked so good since the time it had started, just before World War 1.

Having had to study how missiles worked, Jake now knew that the idea was based on the initial ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missiles) and SLBM (submarine-launched ballistic missiles) targeting software. Jake realised James had to be as brilliant as Jo. Land to air, with good targeting was hard enough, the smarty-pants had designed software for air to land with deadly accuracy. Jo had explained to him that missile defence would be the only problem when dropping the bomb, mostly because countries like America and Russia were well prepared, and they could destroy the missile before it landed – that problem was solved, at least partially, by the fact that stealth bombers would be carrying it.

Tired from the sparks flying from the molyb sheets he was moulding, Jake removed his gear and decided it was time to get some answers from Fallon – or to punch him in the face, depending on which way Fallon decided to go. Climbing out of the basement, Jake heard Fallon singing a Spice Girls song and could not help but laugh.

“Hey Ugly Spice, I have a few questions and you’re going to answer them!” Jake said; loud enough to send nuts and wires flying from Fallon’s hands.

“Ooo Hades, you’ve decided to surface from your underground hell? Isn’t hot down there?” Fallon responded promptly. “I personally don’t quite care if it’s a furnace down there. Now what bloody questions do you want answered? Do I look like a Google search-engine? Shithead.”

“You look like Jeeves. I’ll get straight to the point, and if you don’t answer me, you’re going to end up like the metal scraps downstairs. What does Dynaco have to do with what we’re building?” Jake asked, going for a menacing look.

“Ah. Jo said you’d choose me. Think you can bully me into answers? No need. I’ll tell you, but it’s a distinct possibility that you wouldn’t understand,” Fallon replied. “Now, before we move on, you need to know why nuclear weapons are built. What their purpose is. Who these bombs are built for. The concept is purely humane, though judging by the look on your ugly mug, you have no idea why people build bombs.”

“To be honest, I don’t know why anyone would even build nuclear bombs. The idea of it makes me sick.”

“Nuclear weapons are built for one thing, and one thing only. As a deterrent. If I have a gun and you have a gun, if we decided to ape-shit cowboy on each other, what do you think would happen?” Fallon asked, knowing Jake was floundering.

“You’d end up dead, and trust me, if you don’t start getting straight with me, you’ll end up dead a lot earlier than expected,” Jake snapped instantly.

“No. We’d both end up dead, in theory at least, though we both know I have much more experience with guns than you do. Now, mutual death would serve no purpose, am I right?” Fallon said as Jake nodded in response. “Mutually assured destruction. It’s brilliant. You have a nuclear bomb, I have a nuclear bomb. Don’t fuck with me and drop a nuke on me, because I’ll do the same to you. The cycle of response will continue, practically assuring our death. That is the concept of mutually assured destruction, in a nutshell at least. It’s actually much more beautiful and poetic than that, but you’ll have to ask Jo for the flowery version.”

“Okay. Got it. Mutually assured destruction. Don’t bomb they guy who has a bomb. Got it. Nuclear warfare is non-existent, then?” Jake asked, side-tracked by the new information.

“It isn’t a question of whether it exists, the question is if nuclear warfare is imminent. Wow!” Fallon said with a sigh. “I’m so deep, I kill myself. Now, since you understand why nuclear weapons are made, you may repeat your question, but think before you ask.”

“Screw you, midget. What does Dynaco have to do with what we’re building? Especially now that we know that they’re not going to use our weapons delivery system,” Jake pressed.

“Ahhh. Dynaco, actually is the world’s most powerful land-developing company on the planet. If one were to ask Sun Tzu what he felt was the most important resource and amenity on the planet, what do you think he’d say? Oil? Precious stones? What natural resource is the most important to mankind?”

“Uh...” Jake realised Fallon was veering off into Sun Tzu’s battlefield, as he did so often.

“Land. L-A-N-D is the most important thing on the planet. Not water, we can make water by combining hydrogen and oxygen. Not oil, that shit is fucking worthless without processing. Processing is done where? On fucking land. Land. Land. Land. Don’t ever forget it. The Chinese fought for control over land. The Romans conquered so many communities for what? Land. We fight for what? Land. Get that straight. We need land. Before you think about the resources found on the land, you have to think about whether or not the land is attainable. Are you following so far, num-nuts?”

“Fuck you. Keep talking talking, tiny,” Jake said, trying to figure out what Dynaco wanted the weapons-delivery system for.

“Now... simple. Let’s count it down, since you’re challenged in the logic department. One! We know that nuclear weapons were designed for the sole-purpose of M.A.D. – mutually assured destruction. Two! We know Dynaco ‘claims’ to be in financial trouble. Three! We know that the greatest amenity on the planet is land. Four! Dynaco needs land in order to develop land. Five! We are building something that could wipe out entire cities. Six!” Fallon continued, rhythmically.

“Wait, wait, wait. So you mean to say that Dynaco commissioned this weapons-delivery system so they could ‘threaten’ the world into giving them tenders and land projects? That’s just stupid!” Jake growled.

“You’re an idiot. That’s all I can say. Have you not been listening? MAD! Land! Nukes! Easy-peasy! Nuke an island, lay the blame on someone else, acquire the land and raise your flag! Jesus Christ! I don’t know how you made it through kindergarten! Now ask me how Sun Tzu would recommend control of land,” Fallon laughed.

“Nuke an island, lay the blame, acquire the land, raise your flag. That’s brilliant and all, but...”

 

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story and serves with all intentions and purposes for entertaiment. Any concept, idea or person mentioned in the story of The Builder is completely fictional. Any similarities, apart from scientific facts and historical events, are purely unintentional.
 
Fancy reading about ICBMs, SLBMs and MAD ? Google search or Ask Jeeves!

The Theory of Conspiring

Here it is, folks! Chapter 11, served up with a side of fries. Knock yourself out, tell your friends, follow me on twitter/facebook/blogger. I need readers! Drop me a comment! Missed a chapter or two? Read them here! I suggest you open the other chapters in another tab/window, so you don't get lost. It's easy to miss chapters if you keep going back and forth, and you wouldn't want to miss a chapter, really! Am considering doing a feature on the characters, so everyone would get to know them better! Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Dinner at Jordi’s was definitely going to be difficult. As Jake walked to the house, he heard the familiar, rough and rude sound of a rap song. Totally amused, he figured Chris was trying to get “cool”. As his sharp rapping on the door was completely ignored, he figured he would let himself in. As he opened the door, Hootch came bounding at him, tongue wagging followed by an extremely excited Jaimie.


She was tiny next to the goliath of a dog. A smiles and giggles, looking every bit the four year-old she was. She seemed to have fallen in love with Hootch and could not wait to get out of her uncle’s arms to continue dancing to the awful music and pet the dog.Determined not to be jealous of the mongrel, he strode towards the kitchen, following the scent of good food and the blaring sound of vulgar words being spewed out at high speed.

“Listen, Uncle Jake! I can sing like them!” Jaimie chirped as she dragged the poor dog along. “I-don-care-a-fuck-coz-I’m-just-drinking-smoking-straight-West-coasting!”

Horrified by what had just come out of her mouth, and angry that she had even managed to remember the words, he picked her up by the back of her t-shirt. As she floated a foot above the floor, she laughed and cheered, saying she was flying. She did not sense his anger. He hauled his little niece into the kitchen and was stopped short by the sight of her – Jo was in Jordi’s kitchen. Cooking. Moving. Doing some kind of bump-and-grind move while whisking eggs. She looked ridiculous. He was angry and he did not care how cute she looked.

Anger growing like a tumour; he placed Jaimie back on her feet and strode to the radio, promptly turning off the music. Jo was frozen in her ridiculous stance for a few seconds before realising that the CD had not skipped but in fact the radio had been turned off.

“Heya, Jakie-poo! We were just hangin’ out, chillin’ out and straight West Coasting! If ya know what I mean, homey,” she smiled at him, arms waving, pretending she really was a “homey”. What a lousy accent.

“Jaimie, would you mind singing for Dr. Lester, what you sang for me just now?” Jake turned and asked the little girl gently.

“Sure!” she said, thrilled to bits thinking that Uncle Jake was proud of her. As she sang, perfectly, without skipping a beat, Jake watched Jo’s face. He watched the dawning realisation of how wrong the whole situation was and the guilt washing over her face.

“Well, uh, Jaimie. All I can say is that Dr Dre would be proud. Bad intentions never felt so good, hah? Too funny,” Jo said, as she moved towards Jaimie in apology. Braving a glance at Jake, “Now, Jaimie. While we enjoyed our sing-along time, we can’t ever use that kind of language, okay? Promise me you’ll never, ever, ever, ever say those bad words you heard, or do bad things like smoking ‘n’ drinking.”

“What’s drinking? Like water?” Jaimie asked, now looking more confused than anything else.

Scrubbing his hands across his face, “That’s enough, Jo. You’ve done enough damage. Let’s not turn my niece into a street-walker just yet, shall we?”

“Oh my god! That was actually funny, Grizzles!” Jordi came from behind. “Now leave Jo alone. She’s cooking for me. I was painting my nails. Dinner going to be ready anytime soon, Jo? Really, thank you so much for helping.”

“Be ready in ten! And it’s really no problem at all. I was touched that Jake invited me into your home, allowing me to be part of this, even if for the time-span of a meal,” Jo replied, looking straight at Jake, daring him to correct her.

Feeling like a petulant child, Jake turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Now would be a good time to play that ridiculous alien-bashing game that usually held Jaimie’s attention. Only now, Jaimie was beaming up at Jo with such worship in her eyes that he could not spoil their fun, even if he was in a mood to spit. Not inviting Jaimie to join him at the game console would mean he had some time to gather his thoughts. He idly started up the system and began playing mindlessly.

He had told her not to come, but here she was, bringing her loud, unconsciously beautiful self into his sister’s home. Chris walked into the living room minutes later, sighing heavily and looking tired. The two men acknowledged each other with manly nods, silently. Chris head straight to the kitchen to say ‘hello’ to his wife. Jake smiled to himself, knowing Chris was in for a surprise.

Bounding out of the kitchen, Chris stopped in front of the television. “Have you seen what’s in the kitchen? Good Lord, they don’t make them like that anymore. She was bending over just now. I can’t take it. She’s beyond hot. Congratulations, Jake. Holy shit. I heard she was a sight, but the mere sight of her upturned bottom nearly gave me an aneurysm!”

“Yes. I see you’ve met Jo. Despite the good looks and the bubbles, she’s as mad as a rabid dog. Not my type at all. Now get out of my way. I’m just about to make it to level 2,” Jake bit out. Totally surprised at the fact that he did not appreciate anyone even daring to look at Jo. In all his thirty-two years, he had never felt jealous or even remotely possessive. Chris grunted in response, too tired to pick a fight with Jake. James was already in the kitchen, and it was time for dinner.

***

“So, Jo, tell us, how did you and Jake meet?” Chris asked politely, knowing it would irritate Jake.

“Well, he bashed into me at The Coffee Grounds and the rest is history,” she smiled, looking directly at Jake, batting her eyelids dramatically.

“Oh. Interesting. Jake, how could you knock into her? You could’ve hurt her!” Jordi said, in an attempt to reprimand Jake.

“Trust me. You don’t need to worry about her. She could’ve hurt me, but no one seems to care, right?” Jake replied while patting Jaimie’s back as she choked on her water. James looked extremely amused by the whole situation. Jake wanted to “bash” into James’ face right now.

“Hey guys... I was reading something in the paper today. Thought I’d share it with you,” Chris said, as though he needed say something to ease the tension. “You know that larger-than-life company, Dynaco? Yeah, seems they are going to tank. Something about a lack of tenders and funds. Can you believe it? I mean...” Chris continued.


Jake felt the energy in the room change. He looked around and saw James squirm. Jo had a standard “oh really? I-so-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about” face. Suddenly realising that Dynaco definitely had something to do with what they were building, Jake nodded in interest at Chris.


“Really? A land developer, out of money? America’s huge. There’s land all over the place! I can’t believe a good, all-American company like that is going to go bankrupt. Any ideas, guys? What happened? I’m shocked, really,” Chris could not stop talking.

“Well, uh, you see, companies like Dynaco really should not tank, seeing as they mostly get government tenders to develop land and housing,” Jo said, passing James the salad. Jake noticed that James had not asked for the salad, but let it slide.

“I heard that Dynaco is tanking because the government had decided ‘to go in another direction’. Tenders for land development in Iowa have all been outsourced to non-American companies. The Otway Dam project went to a Hong-Kong Based company. Crazy stuff right, Jaimie?” James said, scooping salad into her plate while she faked gagging at the sight of vegetables.

“Oh? An American company in Hong Kong? Or a bonafide Hong Kong company?” Chris asked, loving the whole mystery behind Dynaco’s bankruptcy.

“A true,blue Hong Kong- owned company. It’s all a big conspiracy, if you ask me. I think your nails are pretty, Jordi! Is the chicken okay?” Jo interjected.

“Totally random, but thank you, Jo! At least someone noticed my nails,” Jordi said, lancing a glare at Chris who was still caught up in the whole conspiracy theory. “The food is perfect, Jo! The chicken is so good! The salsa is epic!”

“It’s really easy to make. You don’t need a PhD in particle physics to know how to do it!” Jo said, thrilled, earning herself dirty looks from both Jake and James. If she kept talking she would blow everything.

“Wait, I don’t get it. Why is this all a big conspiracy? What’s so important with land-developing tenders anyways?” Chris said, not fazed by the distraction.

“I guess we’ll never know, Chris ‘ol buddy. I also guess not everything is as transparent as they claim it to be,” Jake said bitterly.

Tomorrow he would find out what Dynaco had to do with the weapons-delivery system. As they finished up dinner and Jo played the alien-bashing game with Jaimie before bed-time, Jake thought about which of the three geniuses he was going to interrogate and how he was going to do it.

After thinking about it, he had decided. Fallon was going to end up a “victim” if Jake did not get answer. There was no way they could hide it from him anymore. Dynaco was going down, and if he did not get answers, so was Fallon. Steeling himself, he went home to read about Dynaco and all the other current news.

Tycho never made Sense

Missed a chapter or two? Read them here! Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

He spent the rest of the day in silence. He needed to learn? They brought him in on this “project” and he needed to learn? He put everything he had into learning how to build a weapons delivery system and this was the thanks he got? The insane sentence “you needed to learn” sounded a million times in his head. Calling himself an idiot was one thing, but having someone else bring your idiocy to your attention was another thing, especially when that someone else wanted your help.


“Are you going to sulk tomorrow too, Jakie-poo?” Jo said as she came down the stairs of the basement. Jake found that solitary confinement suited his mood just fine, and was not in the mood to “play” or to be “played with” by Jo. “Can I tell you a story, Jake? It’s just a story, really. Quite funny, when you think about it.”

“I’m kind of busy here, Jo. Maybe another time, okay?” Jake replied, not wanting to look at her, knowing he would melt and give in.

“So, it’s about this guy in the 1500s, his name was Tycho Brahe. He was a mathematician and astronomer. And, the best part is, he was famous. He was brilliant. So brilliant, that no one actually remembers who he is now...” Jo rambled, ignoring his rejection. “He had an awful personality to boot, too. When he was twenty, he got in a fight and lost his nose, so he had a metal prosthesis. He fixed it to his face with wax. Brilliant. Anyways...”

“Is there a point to this very interesting story, Jo?” Jake said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She shot him a dismissive look and continued on, “There is a point, if you’ll only listen. He studied, and he studied hard. He searched the skies, looked at the stars. He worked hard – and then drew the conclusion that the world was in fact, stagnant. Stationary, not revolving. Can you believe it? I mean, here was this guy, who had all the information of the universe at his finger tips – well, not all the information, and heaven only knows if he even had accurate information, since it was so fucking long ago.”

“Focus, Jo. Focus. Back to the point of the story,” Jake said, hiding his amusement.

“Yes, yes. Don’t rush me. Magic fucking happens when I tell stories, I’m told. There was this time back when I was an undergraduate,” she continued on.

“Jo! Really! Get to the point or get out! And stop being a potty mouth” he said, totally entertained by her story-telling skills, or lack thereof.

“Yes yes. So, my point is, although right now I may have forgotten it,” she said while she stared at his hands. Jake’s eyes followed her, and he noticed a tiny cockroach approaching his hand which lay on the table. Pulling her gaze away from it, she continued, “He studied hard, worked hard and came up with conclusions and answers that were completely wrong!”

“Yet, we all know it was absolutely necessary that he studied as hard as he did, worked as hard as he did and churned out wrong information. Mankind should thank the mother fucker for being wrong. He was meticulous, designed great instruments and observed things with great accuracy. He needed to be wrong, so someone else could be right, don’t you understand?”

“No, actually, I don’t. How does this have anything to do with me?” Jake asked, perplexed.

“You need to learn and make mistakes, Jake. We all do. We all have to learn. Some learn faster and some learn a little slower, but everyone will make mistakes. So now that you’ve learned, Bayesian statistics tell us that you’re about to make a huge mistake. The probability is high, so go easy on yourself, okay?” Jo said, still not making any sense to him.

“So, let me get this straight, you’re telling me that there is a high chance that I’m going to make a mistake similar to this guy’s? Seriously? Could you choose a more roundabout way of saying it? Geez. The lot of you drive me crazy. Why can’t you be normal? I mean, you’re way too gorgeous to be normal, but you could try, dammit!”

“Try to be normal? Why? Simple theory of mine; any attempt at being different is in fact simply normal. Brilliant, I know. Philosophers would be proud!”she said, though he noticed her face had flushed red. She was blushing? Pushing the fanciful thought of that blush spreading lower down towards her chest out of his mind fast enough to have any real reaction to it, he glanced away and spoke.

“I really have to get back to work. I really do love working with the PTI, but honestly, that software is not going to figure itself out.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. If you have any questions, though, you can ask Fallon. He likes you, and has obviously accepted you as one of us. Dinner upstairs at eight?” Jo asked, gently now, the colour on her cheeks fading.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m good with whatever,” he replied, already wanting to see that red flush all over again. How could blushing be attractive, he wondered.

He spent the next few hours stooped over at his desk learning how to use the PTI software. A proud part of him wondered if the corrections he had drawn on the glass model were in fact, correct. That would mean that no fancy computer could outsmart him, right?

The ridiculous Tycho story slowly sank in, and he realised he was actually trying to understand what Jo had meant. He really had learned a lot over the past few weeks, and judging by the schematics shown on the computer, his initial calculations had been wrong – awfully wrong. Like not sharing cake with kids kind of wrong. It was all wrong, and now he clearly understood. He may have learnt the basics, but he was far from getting things right. He needed Fallon’s help.

Pushing away from the table and heading up the stairs, he glanced at his watch and noted that it was almost eight. He looked forward to sitting across Jo the Crazy during dinner. He considered sitting right next to her, but scrapped the idea the moment he realised he would be a goner if her thigh brushed his. Then he mentally kicked himself for thinking about her thighs. It was going to be a long, painful, tortuous dinner.

“Well, well, well, the ogre appears. Jo Jo, you little friend has decided to grace us with his presence for dinner,” a sarcastic voice said. Jake knew in an instant it was the Melon Felon

“Well, well, well, Smeagle’s still here, ‘Jo jo’. Have you found your ‘precious’ yet?” Jake replied, egged on by Fallon’s nasty glare.

James sputtered and spewed his coffee all over the table, in an attempt to control his laughter while Jo moved about “assembling” dinner. Instant tacos really did not look very appetizing, but there was a lot to be said about the female preparing the tacos. Each outfit proved to be even more ridiculous than the last. She was wearing an evening gown today, only it had been ripped mid-thigh, making her look like she was cast in a Marilyn Manson video. Black nails and racoon-eyes perfected the look. She truly was adorable. The thighs looked positively delectable, and he mentally kicked himself again for thinking about her thigh, or any of her body parts. No one could actually blow a balloon or even build a weapons delivery system wearing that, but she obviously defied logic.

“We’re going to have to stop at Jordi’s place after we leave tonight, brother. She’s been looking for you, and that abomination you call a truck has been parked outside the shop way too long. She’s getting worried. Worst of all, she’s getting suspicious. Dinner at her place tomorrow?” James asked, concern washing his face.

“Ooooooo, I love pacifying sisters. I’m the perfect gal to take home, ya’ll, Project Pacification, here we come!” Jo jumped in with a Southern drawl, earning a scoff from a now silenced Smeagle-Fallon.

“You’re not coming Jo,” Jake said. He would not allow her infectious laughter and off-kilter personality to infiltrate his private life. It would be disastrous.

“So, Jakie-poo, do tell us, have you realised that the piece of junk you call a weapons delivery model is actually junk?” Fallon asked, stressing on the word “poo”.

“Fuck you, shorty. I checked the ‘junk’ myself, and he did a pretty good job. Sure, the delivery system would’ve failed if we actually built a full-scale pay load carrier, but it was his first attempt. Now back off, you turd. Can I call you something else? Let’s think of another name. The Melon Felon sounds way too good,” Jo laughed, defending Jake. He was touched that she had so much faith in him. Nothing like having a beautiful woman fighting your fights for you, he figured.

“Sun Tzu said to never push a man to the corner, never make your enemies desperate. You’re pushing me, Jo Jo!” Fallon said, with mock indignation.

“Fuck Sun Tzu, you freak!” James said and late into the night the foul banter continued.



Tell your friends about my blog, I really do want to know if you have found the story interesting so far! Cheers and love to all!

Learning it the Hard Way

Sorry for the delay, folks, had to sit for an exam. Missed a chapter or two? Catch them here! Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

He could not quite tell how he felt. Jo was clearly pleased to see this hideous runt of a man. Fallon could not have been more than five feet two inches, stout and with that high voice, Jake was willing to bet five dollars that The Melon Felon definitely took anabolic steroids growing up. Definitely suffering from SFS – short fuck syndrome, Jake thought eloquently and smugly. Although, James seemed to be very happy to see him too.


He was truly a quirky character, what with the ridiculous moustache – which he figured was new, since the other two commented on it, and then there were the shoes. No one had said anything about the ludicrous shoes. White on the left, purple on the right, both with little black checks. Something propelled him to exert his authority. Being called ‘The Builder’ only spurred the need to show them that he was a force to be reckoned with; that and he really liked the nickname.

“The Melon Felon? I don’t even want to know what he did to earn himself a nickname like that,” Jake said, going for a confident and sure tone.

“You know how Ptolemy thought the world was the centre of the universe? Yeah, well, Fallon over here thought he could disprove the String Theory!” Jo said proudly. “Boy, oh, boy, they were both terribly wrong. He tried to disprove the whole theory using melons as quarks and atoms, when they vibrated; he had a melon-explosion. Dumbass. Thus, The Melon Felon.”

“Oh. Yeah. I totally get everything you just said,” Jake replied, feeling even more stupid than ever. He wanted to go home. Shit, shower, shave and sleep – as James said. Yet another failed attempt at being like them.

“I’m outta here guys. Jo, goodnight,” he said, stealing a glance at her, only to see her beaming at the ugly Fallon felon.

“Oh, yeah, goodnight Jakie-poo. Sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? Beer?” Jo turned to him, still looking high from that awful man’s arrival.

Jake shook his head and silently walked out the door, past Fallon. He did not regret leaving. He needed to; he needed a break, a chance to rewind and the opportunity to gather his thoughts. As he opened the truck door, he realised he had left the glass model on the workshop table, with all the pen markings and corrections he needed. Figuring it would be fine to leave it till tomorrow, he dispelled all thoughts of returning to the Coroner’s office and headed straight home.

Part of him wondered what they were doing in Jo’s place while he was away. The other part of him wanted to forget all about the task at hand. He was tired and sleep came fast.

***

He was dreaming – he was sure he was. The banging sounds he was hearing had to be part of his dream. He braved open an eye and glanced at his radio-alarm clock. Nine-thirty, on the dot. He was not dreaming. Someone was at his door; and whoever it was definitely did not possess patience. It was a virtue, after all.

Forcing himself and bracing his body which felt like it had been battered, he pushed away from the bed and head straight to the door. The banging was now constant. Rude people. He had surrounded himself with rude people.

“So help me God if you keep pounding on my door, I am going to rip your arms off your...” he was stopped mid-ramble by the sight of Fallon.

“Get the fuck up, will ya? We have work to do. And you goin' to rip my arms off? I dare you to try, shit head. I’ll wait while you shower. You got food in this place or am I going to have to starve while you shower?” Fallon pushed.

“There’s stale bread on the kitchen counter, it matches your foul personality,” Jake said as he walked back to his room. He thought he heard Fallon snicker and was momentarily proud of himself.

He took his time in the shower, he figured Fallon could wait. Almost an hour after Fallon’s arrival, Jake emerged from his room only to find Fallon sleeping, mouth open and drooling on his kitchen table.

“Payback’s a bitch,” he thought gleefully. He pulled a drinking mug from a cupboard and slammed it down on the kitchen table causing Fallon to jump up and screech.

“Touche’, grunt. I apologise for waking you rudely,” Fallon said, after he had calmed down. “Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way. We’re not taking your rust-bucket. I drove Jo’s Hummer.”

Jake nodded in response and they left the house. Once in the car, Fallon was kind enough to stop for coffee at The Coffee Grounds and buy four cups of coffee, and Jake was willing to bet Fallon knew exactly how Jo liked her coffee. He wanted to rip Fallon’s cheesy moustache right off his face. That would be funny.

When they arrived at Jo’s, the four of them sat together in Jo’s kitchen while Hootch snoozed in Jake’s workshop. Jo thanked Fallon for the coffee, James muttered something about not enough chocolate in his mocha and then the room was silent. Almost eerie.

Breaking the silence, James spoke. “Jake, you need to move a little faster. The molyb sheets are already here and you’re going to need more workspace, so go down to the basement. You’ll have to move not just because of the space, but because the welding is going to be noisy. Fallon will move into your workshop, but he’s going to need exact measurements and dimensions of the carrier. The software for weapons delivery is easy enough, I’m almost done. We leave for Nevada in three weeks, for testing. The DOD doesn’t like to wait.”

“Uh, okay. Wait, did you just say Nevada? The DOD?” Jake questioned.

“Yes, he did, Jake. DOD? Department of Defense? It’s crunch time. You’ve made your glass version, but we can’t waste the molyb sheets on full size prototypes. You’re going to have to perfect your scaled-models and then Fallon will help with the real thing. I’m sorry, you don’t have enough time to ‘practise’ or to learn how to weld and test heat tolerance. Fallon the hideous, didn’t bring enough of our precious metal for you. We may not even have enough for the real pay-load carrier,” Jo explained, gently.

“What the fuck? How is this my fault? How was I supposed to know that ‘The Builder’ has absolutely no education or experience? Jesus, is everything my fucking fault?” Fallon shouted, slamming his fist on the table.

“Now, now, calm down, melon head. I’ve got a nifty little device that’ll solve all our problems. Stole it from a buddy of mine in Quantico,” Jo chirped as she dashed off into the other room and rummaged around for something. Jake swore he heard something crash, but did not want to think about it.

“See?” she said as she came into the room holding what looked like an industrial torch light, but with a tapered area for the bulb. “Take this sexy little thing, and boys, it really is sexy,” she said seductively, doing a little jig. She went to a cupboard, pulled out a mug and placed it in the middle of the table. “It’s all very complicated, as you may guess. Heh. Actually I like acting smart. Nyuk nyuk.”

She aimed the torch at it, and a red beam of light shone and moved in different directions, scanning the mug. When she was sure it was done, she turned it off.

“Jo, you little whore, you had a PTI and you said nothing?” James said, smiling. Suddenly the three smart ones looked so incredibly happy. Knowing he had to ask for an explanation eventually, he remained silent until the rest of the “demonstration” was done.

Jo, flipped open her lap top, punched in a few keys and squealed with glee. “See? Now we can make adjustments and re-calculate from here! I’m so going to have sex with Sean Uberstein.”

Caught off-guard, “Who the hell is Sean Uberstein?” Jake roared.

“Whoa, slow down there, tiger. Uberstein’s a researcher. Quantico? Virginia? FBI headquarters? Do I need to explain everything? I got the PTI from him?” Jo explained, laughing.

“Shut up, Jo. You’ve obviously upset Jake. Relax, Jake, she’s not going to sleep with Uberstein. The man’s a turd. And he listens to pop. That’s just weird,” James said, attempting to comfort Jake.

“Oh. The Builder’s got it bad for you, Jo Jo. Now, can we get back to work?” Fallon said, adjusting his ridiculous polka-dotted bow-tie.

“Okay, so here we go. Jakie-poo, pay attention. You’ll be using the PTI and its software for now. You just have to...” Jo began explaining absent-mindedly.

“Wait, wait, wait. What the hell is a PTI?” Jake asked, already irritated.

“A PTI is a portable tomographic imager. You know, like a hand-held CAT scan. Only far more advanced. Unlike spherical TIs, which are bulky and of course, not portable, the PTI emits x-rays in polarized, random pulses, while regular CAT scans emit x-rays around a single axis of rotation. The PTI is so advanced, it beats magnetic resonance imagers, because it is able to differentiate multiple densities. You’ll be working with a really, really, really, really fancy piece of equipment, Jakie-poo. The development of this technology is worth billions. So, once you’ve taken your fancy-photos, you just have to wait for a complete three-dimensional picture to be loaded. From there, you can make adjustments and re-calculations. Input your data, and voila! The software does the rest. From there you’ll know exactly how to perfect your little glass models, down to the micrometre. Eucledian geometry never looked so good, don’t you think?” Jo blathered.

“You mean you had a fancy computer that could’ve computed all the schematics too? I’m going to kill you! I did those calculations on my own, dammit! Why are you bringing this torch thingo out now?!” Jake snapped.

“You needed to learn, Jake” James replied gently.

Do tell your friends about my site, do keep reading and thank you all for your support!!! Love to all!

Enter the Felon

Missed a chapter or two? Read 'em here! Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Jake spent the following days planning and drawing, cursing himself each step of the way. Fallon’s expected arrival gave him an impending sense of doom. Why he was secretly afraid of Fallon, a man he had never met previously was beyond him.


He spent most of his days in Jo’s house, always trying to figure out how to improve on his designs. He was getting the hang of the schematics planning, but how he was going to materialise a drawing weighed heavy on his shoulders. Not knowing what Fallon was going to bring and constantly seeing Jo and James huddled together and speaking softly caused stress. Usually their heads would be almost locked together, peering over something on James’ computer, only breaking to burst out into laughter and curse at each other.

How come he had no one to work with? He was nothing more than the hired help. A slave, driven by those who were simply higher up on the food chain. Their sharp, caustic humour gnawed at him, though Jo always laughed and teased, which made things a little less tense. James simply was not bothered by Jake’s presence. Fallon was supposed to arrive in two days and Jake figured he should put aside his trepidation and look forward to having a rough-neck with him. More than anything, he wanted to know what Fallon’s relationship with Jo was.

“You got that clay model done yet, Mr. Sulky?” Jo came from behind him. He had been so far away in his thoughts he had not heard her approach, though he comforted himself with the fact that she was a trained militant and knew how to be stealthy. “What the fuck is your problem anyways? You’re supposed to be enjoying this, but you spend all day working. I thought nerds like me were the ones who had to work hard. What’s eating you?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to catch up, that’s all. And by the way, ‘smart’ people like you don’t have to work hard for anything. So leave me alone, Jo” he groused.

“Oh. Fine. You want to play the whole ‘poor me I’m not smart enough to build a weapons delivery system’ role, you go ahead. James and I need the clay model and we needed it like, yesterday,” she said, dejected. Hurt flashed in her eyes and he felt like a royal cad.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay. I just have to concentrate if I’m going to get this right,” he said gently.

“Hah! Gotcha, Jakie-poo! Hows about this, James-sie, Hootch and I will move in here, just till Fallon comes. Fallon’s a bastard, but he’ll get along with you, I’m sure. He’s, well, not as pleasant as I am or even as easily understood as James, but trust me. Your learning curve will go ‘exponentional’!” she laughed out. “Just get that clay model ready by the end of tomorrow, so we’ve got something for the Grouch to work on, okay? We good? Should we have a huggle session to ease the tension?”

“I don’t need a damned huggle, dammit. Send Hootch in, tell him I’ll split my sandwich with him in exchange for company,” he said. She made him smile, but he would not let her figure that out.

“Yessir! One pooch that hasn’t had a bath in over a week coming right up! Don’t be stingy!” she called out as she left the room.

Almost immediately Hootch trotted in, as though he knew there was a food-reward coming his way. Smiling at the dog, he handed the entire sandwich to the dog and moved towards the pigeon-holed wall to get modelling clay out.

“Just what I need, a day with Play-Doh,” he muttered.

As he removed the clay out of its little wrapper, he realised it was not regular modelling clay. Almost yellow and with a greasy texture, it bent and moved like it had a life of its own. He spotted a piece of paper attached to the base of the wrapper and peeled it off.

           It’s a sand polymer of sorts. No need to figure out what kind, just know that it’ll do exactly what you need it to do. Treat it with love. You’ll never run out. It’s self replicating. Pinch off only a little bit and make sure you place it back into the wrapper before leaving each day and you’ll save us from a blob attack. Flame what you have used to fix the form. I don’t need to tell you where the Bunsen burner is, do I?

                                                                                                      -I’m too sweet, I know. Jo.

Smiling to himself, he did as instructed and pinched off a small part of the “polymer” and placed the rest back in the wrapper. He went back to his table and stared at his drawings. Attempting to re-produce what he had drawn with the polymer, he started to make the fixtures for the internal side of the cylindrical pay-load carrier.

How was he supposed to make it? He could not figure it out, so like a child, he shaped it into a ball and pressed his two thumbs right into it to make a hole. He then inserted his index finger into the hole and coiled his other hand around it. Feeling extremely proud of himself that it was all coming together, he pressed on, moulding, pinching, slicing and even adding touches of design to it.

“This polymer or whatever is a fucking riot,” he said with the jubilance of a seven year-old that had just been handed a lollypop.

Hootch whined in response. He dug around the drawers to find a Bunsen burner and placed it aside so he would have it ready – just in case The Blob lost its temper. In an instant he saw that it had almost doubled in size, and was looking very much like a rough version of the pay-load casing, minus fixtures and mounts.

He flicked on his goggles and flamed it, having the most fun he had ever experienced in weeks, or months, years maybe. As the polymer heated, it became completely translucent and hardened. It now looked like glass. He was almost sure it was the government’s best kept secret. Who would’ve thought he could make glass, all by his little self?

Flaming the edges to make sure everything had completely hardened; he noted which parts needed fixing and “fine-tuning”. Once done, he set it aside so it could cool and rummaged around for a marker pen. He began to mark the spots that needed fixing along with dimensional calculations.

“Boy, that actually looks like a pay-load carrier,” James said, which had James literally jumping off his stool. Was it possible that he was going deaf? He had not heard James come in either. “You’re working fast, brother. I didn’t expect an actual model before Fallon’s arrival. I thought he’d have to teach you how to do it. I’m impressed – really.”

“Shit, I’m impressed too. It does look good, huh? I always did love building things. I’ll make another one, right after I’ve figured out which parts need to fixed and readjusted. Should I make a fake pay-load as well? This is way too much fun.”

“Good to see you smiling, but sorry, you can’t work anymore today. You haven’t left that room in more than a day, haven’t you noticed? You’re beginning to look like Jesus. Go home, shit, shower and shave. Then sleep. You’ll be much more productive if you’re well rested, Mr Crazy Inventor. Jo’s really impressed and I have a feeling that I’ve made the right choice,” James replied.

“What? I’ve been here for more than 24 hours? Unbelievable. It felt like a couple of hours, three at most,” Jake said, puffing with pride. Thirty-two years and he’d never felt that he had accomplished anything. A small, glass model was enough to send him over the moon. “Yeah, I should go. You and Jo prolly want some quiet time.”

“You’re still an idiot, that much hasn’t changed,” James sighed as he walked out of the workshop. The silence of the house was broken by the sound of a blasting horn, probably coming from a truck outside the house. The three of them, followed by Hootch who was now barking excitedly came out of their respective workshops and gathered at the kitchen to see who or what was causing such a commotion.

As if he knew, Hootch started to wag his tail and ran towards the front door. They saw a huge U-Haul truck parked outside, with no driver in sight. Jo glanced over her perimeter scanner and saw that no human form had approached the Coroner’s Office.

“Fucking Fallon. Has to bring his grouchy ass to my doorstep at dinner time. I’m going to break his fat neck. I’m hungry again, dammit,” Jo cursed, with a look of pure disgust on her face.

Watching intently as Jo unlocked the front door and James grabbed his gun, a fancy looking Jericho 941 out of its holster, pointing it directly head-level at the front door in preparation. As the door swung open and the two smart ones moved aside, a tiny man with spectacles in a preppy looking sweater appeared in front of them.

“Nice moustache, Fallon. You’re one ugly mother fucker, you know that?” Jo said, irritated.

“Hey, I think it makes me look manly,” the tiny man with a mousy voice said. “Good job, James, you’re standing on the right side of the door with your back to the wall. I see you’ve been taking Sun Tzu’s advice by protecting your rear-right. Fantastic. Now move aside, I want to meet The Builder,” he squeaked, ominously.

“Oh, you’re still obsessed with warfare and Sun Tzu? You’re a fucking loser,” Jo said.

“You’re a fucking red-bottomed baboon, but I don’t love you any less. Where the fuck is The Builder?” he asked angrily. “And can I come the fuck in? Shall we build this thing out here? Where’s dinner, woman?”

“Wow. He really is not a pleasant person, now is he?” Jake asked, earning himself a dirty glare from the now angry, tiny man.

“Jake, the builder, meet Fallon the Melon Felon,” James said, trying to stifle a laugh.

“The Melon Felon?”

Expect to read Chapter 9 soon!

Please tell your friends! I need readers! I want this story to go somewhere! Follow me on Twitter and Facebook!

I'm back!

My darlings, I am soooooo sorry. I was sick and then I went to Penang! (An island of Malaysia - chaos) I haven't written in over a week and my fingers are itching to tell you more about Jake. Basically, I am totally thrilled that you are actually reading! Cheers! I can't promise when Chapter 8 will be out, becase the in laws are visiting, so you may have to wait a little, but that doesn't mean you can't read some of my older stuff!! Much love to all readers. Leave me a comment, will ya?