Revenge of the Duck

“Don’t you ever think that maybe we’ve lived before?” Benny said. “You know, reincarnation.”

“No,” Harry said. 

“How do you explain de ja vu?” Benny said smugly.

“Time travel,” Harry said confidently. “For an instant, you go forward and come back.”

“That can’t happen,” Benny said. 

“Deja vu happens all the time,” Harry said.

“No,” Benny said. “I meant time travel.”

“People think it’s reincarnation when it’s really time travel,” Harry said.

“What about people who remember things in the past as a duck?” Benny said.

“You were once a duck?” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Benny said. “But don’t tell anybody.”

Suddenly, Harry stared blankly. He blinked his eyes, and his head twitched peculiarly several times. After a moment, he smiled pleasantly at Benny.

“What was that all about?” Benny said. “Are you okay?”  

“Time travel,” Harry said.

“Time travel?” Benny said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Time travel.”

“Where did you go?” Benny said.

“Into the future,” Harry said.

“How far?” Benny said.

“Far enough,” Harry said.

“Far enough for what?” Benny said.

Harry snickered. “Far enough to tell everybody you believe you were once a duck.”

“Oh no!” Benny said. “When can I expect people to start laughing
at me?”

“You got about a year,” Harry said.

“How could you do this? Benny said.

“Do you remember when you were a duck?” Benny said.

“Yes,” Harry said. 

“Do you remember one day you were with a bunch of little ducks and you were quacking at another little duck?” Harry said.

“Well, I vaguely remember something like that,” Benny said. “My duck memory is foggy.”

“Well, that little duck that you and all your friends were quacking at was me!” Harry said. “Every time you hear a little kid quack, run, and hide, you’ll know why, and you’ll curse the day you were reincarnated.

“I’m confused,” Benny said.

Next Novel, "Deception In Paradise"

  For the next week or so, I will post some of my unpublished short fiction. They will be posted on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. After that, I will serialize a novel I recently finished, Deception in Paradise. 

  To be more accurate, some may have been published as part of an old WordPress writer's prompt I participated in several years back. It was great fun and put me and my work in front of a diverse array of new readers and fellow writers. 

The writing prompt was delivered by email at 6:00 AM, my time, every morning. The challenge was to submit whatever the prompt prompted you to write. Some writers, I'm sure, had something tucked away in their back pocket or stashed away on their hard drive. In less than five minutes, they had a thousand words of perfectly edited prose.

  At any rate, I had my own rule. I gave myself one hour to write something. What was written had to be fiction. 

  That meant there were some badly written and edited pieces of short fiction. I'll dust them off a bit before posting. You'll be reading the best. And if I can't find the best, you'll get the second best. 

  Thanks for visiting. Have a morning coffee on me, take care. See ya Monday. 

Thanks For Reading "A Cult In Paradise"--And More On The Way

 Well, the novel, A Cult In Paradise, is now complete. The complete book is available for purchase on Amazon. It is available in both paperback and digital formats. 

It will continue online at this site. 

However, if you've read it or are reading it, please show your appreciation by kindly donating. Information is provided in the left hand column. 

What have I been doing while posting A Cult In Paradise? I've been busy writing another Trace Troy adventure. Details will be provided in the next post.

Thanks so much for being a part of this site, and I hope you return for the next South Seas adventure.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 50 (Final Episode), A Complete Crew

This is episode fifty, the final episode, of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It has been featured in episodes over the last few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you have enjoyed this adventure. And thanks for stopping by.

A Complete Crew

After a good meal, Trace and Tom visited a clothing store. Trace bought Tom a couple of changes of clothing. They tossed the robe away.

Walking on the sidewalk away from the store, Trace asked, “Where have you been sleeping?”

“Here and there,” Tom said. “I found an empty shed for a couple of nights. Any place I could find that was out of the way. I thought about getting arrested so I could, at least, sleep in jail and get a meal.”

“Come back to The Tramp Islander tonight,” Trace offered. “You can stay in one of the cabins.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be too proud,” Tom said. “I’m going to jump at it.”

“Good,” Trace said. “You’re at risk of becoming sick without proper food and rest. It looks like we’ll be in Pago Pago for a couple more days. My dad married someone from the island. I don’t know if that means I have any influence, but I’ve met a few people related to my dad’s wife. Maybe we can put something together for you, a job, and a way back to The States.”

“I’ve lived five years not making any decisions on my own,” Tom said. “It’s like being institutionalized. I’m not used to doing things on my own.”

They reached the dock and walked across the gangplank and onboard The Tramp Islander.

Trace opened the hatch to the front companionway. “Go all the way through, past the galley, to the very end of the hallway. The last room on the left will be yours. Get some rest.”

“Appreciate it,” Tom said.

“I’ll tell Makani you’re onboard,” Trace said. “He always has snacks on the bar; help yourself.”

Tom ducked down the companionway and made his way forward to his cabin.

Sage rested on the lid of the forward hatch. He watched the sun cast its final glow below the green vegetated hills laying lazily west of  Pago Pago harbor. His thoughts bounced from one situation to another; the future, the past, and the wide gulf in between. Adam, his dad and trusted advisor, was long gone, enjoying life with Talei in Hawaii. Coyote, the straightforward, honest friend of Adam, was likely in Texas, conjuring up stories about the last few months in the South Seas. Sage is here. That is why he is here; for times like this. 

He climbed below, using the forward companionway. He walked to Sage’s room and rapped on the door. 

Sage opened the door. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Come up to the pilothouse,” Trace said. “I want to talk for a while.”

“Sure,” Sage said. “Let me get my shoes on.”

Trace climbed up to the pilothouse. He sat in the chair at the chart desk and waited for Sage.

Sage arrived a couple of minutes later. He carried two cups of coffee. 

“I could tell you have something on your mind,” Sage said, handing a cup to Trace. “I wasn’t sure it was coffee or whiskey. I thought we’d start with coffee.”

“Good choice,” Trace said.

“You know I was reading The Sea-Wolf when you knocked,” Sage said as he sat on the bench.

“Let me guess,” Trace said, sipping the coffee, “I’m Wolf Larsen and you’re Humphrey Van Weyden?”

“You’ve read it?” Sage said. 

“Required, the ninth grade,” Trace said.

“Oh, yeah,” Sage said, “you told me all about it so I could give a book report. I knew the story sounded familiar. I can’t remember how it ends—don’t tell me!”

Sage sipped his coffee while he looked beyond the cup at his lips toTrace. He pulled the cup away and asked, “So what’s up?”

“Sage, you and I have roots in this world,” Trace began. “We’re going to be ranchers. We’ve been raised that way. But if we decide to do something else, we have something to fall back on.”

“You mean like take off and sail the South Seas,” Sage said.

“Exactly,” Trace said. “This is a quest, an adventure, a diversion. We’re serious, but this is not a serious endeavor. It’s going to college and taking all the easy courses.”

“I follow you,” Sage said, “but where does this lead?“

“Remember Tom?” Trace asked.

“The guard who took a cane to your head and you kneed him in the coconuts,” Sage said. “By the way, if you ask me, he still had something comin’ to ‘im. Like a for real knee in the balls.”

“He’s in the last crew cabin on the left,” Trace said.

“What!” 

“Yeah,” Trace sipped. “Let me tell you what happened to me today.”

Trace told him about how he found Tom eating from a garbage can, all the way to him taking the cabin.

“So that’s it,” Trace concluded.

“You left out something,” Sage hesitated. “Your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Trace said, “you know my feelings, maybe better than anyone.”

“So we just hired a deckhand who’s some sort of brainy-ack and never worked anything harder than the Pythagorean theorem Sage said. “And now you want to hire a sick, emaciated former cult member who eats out of garbage cans and snitches on his friends.”

“That sums it up,” Trace said.

“I say go for it,” Sage said, and reached his cup out to toast Trace.

They clinked cups.

“Let’s get ‘im up here,” Trace said. 

“I’ll go below and tell him to come up to the pilothouse,” Sage said. “You handle it. I’m going back to The Sea-Wolf.”

Tom climbed up the aft companionway and into the pilothouse. He looked intensely at Trace, trying to read why he called him to the pilothouse.

“Have a seat,” Trace said, nodding to the bench.

Tom sat on the bench.

“How’s your cabin?’ Trace asked.

“Cozy and nice,” Tom said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sage and I have been talking,” Trace said. “You really don’t know what’s next, do you?”

“Do any of us?” Tom said.

“No,” Trace said, “but a week from now, chances are, I’m on the seas heading to Fiji. On the other hand, what can you say?”

“I really don’t know,” Tom said.

“Here’s what Sage and I have come up with,” Trace said. “We’d like to take you on as a deckhand.”

“I know nothing about being a deckhand,” Tom said.

“Neither does Paul Purnell. He has the cabin next to yours,” Trace said.

“Paul?” 

“Yes,” Trace said, “he’s going to be a deckhand.”

Tom looked around the pilothouse as if looking for someone to provide an answer. 

“There’s no one here to help you,” Trace said. He reached across to Tom and jabbed his finger on his chest. “The answer is there. It’s inside you. It’s your choice.”

Tom clenched his jaw. “I’ll try.”

“That’s not good enough,” Trace said.

“I’ll do it,” Tom said.

Trace stood and grabbed the mic. “All hands in the mess. All hands in the mess.”

Trace hung up the mic. “Do you know what the mess is?”

“I know what it sounds like,” Tom said.

“Follow me, you’re in for a surprise.”

Trace introduced Tom to the rest of the crew. Paul was pleased to be reunited with Tom. Trace cautioned everyone that everyone was new on The Tramp Islander at one time and that working and learning had challenges.

Trace concluded by saying, “Tom and I had a confrontation with a three-hundred-pound gorilla back at a restaurant. I know his breed. Revenge is in his genes. So let’s get out of port before he storms onto  The Tramp Islander at midnight with a dozen of his goons. Sage, show these landlubbers how to toss the lines, and let’s get out to sea.”

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 49, A-Two-Hundred Dollar Meal

This is episode forty-nine of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by.

A Two-Hundred-Dollar Meal

Paul stowed his gear in one of the empty crew’s cabins. Then, Sage took Paul to a local clothing store to buy attire worthy of a deckhand. In the meantime, Trace said he would visit a couple of Talei’s nephews to see if they knew of anyone who needed a job. Makani returned to The Tramp Islander to watch over it. He promised not to speak to reporters, only the police.

Trace walked along the street next to the harbor. It led to a fishing gear store and bait shop owned by one of Talei’s nephews. Trace got along well with him at the fautsi. Trace thought he might be a good resource to steer a deckhand The Tramp Islander’s way. 

On the way there, Trace came across a sobering and pitiful sight. Someone, in a soiled white robe, bent over a garbage can next to a restaurant. It was one of the ex cult members. He retrieved discarded food wrapped in a napkin. He picked through it and flicked the flys away. 

“Geez,” Trace said to himself, “I saved him for that.”

Trace hurried his pace and drew closer. “Hey!” He said.

Without looking, the man in the white robe began running away. 

‘I know I can catch a guy in a robe,’ Trace thought, and ran after him. 

Less than two hundred yards, Trace came within an arm’s length. He grabbed his shoulder, and the man lost his balance. He stumbled and fell to the ground face down.

Trace breathed heavy, trying to catch his breath. The man in the robe rolled over and faced Trace.

“Tom!” Trace said, “What on earth?”

Trace extended his hand and helped Tom to his feet. They both rested their hands on their knees for a moment until they stopped gasping for air.

“I thought everyone your members were off the island,” Trace said. “What are you still doing here?”

“I don’t have any money,” Tom said. “No one to vouch for me back home.” 

“There has to be somebody,” Trace said. “What about the others? Couldn’t they have helped you?”

“Because I was the spokesmen for the group, I was detained longer,” Tom said. “When the authorities were done with me, everybody was gone. I applied for assistance at the embassy, but they said it could take as much as six weeks.”

“When’s the last time you had something to eat?” Trace asked.

“Two days ago,” Tom said. “If you hadn’t come along, it would have been five minutes ago.”

“Come on,” Trace said, “let’s walk back to the restaurant where you were going through their cans. I’ll get you something to eat, and we’ll see what we can do about getting you home.”

They started walking back to the restaurant. 

“I don’t understand why nobody can vouch for you back in The States,” Trace said.

“Like most on the island, I come from a pretty good background,” Tom said. “My dad was an investor. He invested other people’s money. When I became involved with Members of the Cosmos, Dad sent a couple of thousand a month. Like everybody else, it was disguised as paying for a spiritual enlightenment. Some paid more, much more. A couple of years ago, my mother died. Dad took to the bottle. He invested poorly and devised some sort of Ponzi scheme to pay for his lifestyle, money lost on neglected investments, and my spiritual journey. It all caved in on him. He was about to face the consequences when he consumed a bottle of pills with a bottle of vodka.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Trace said.

“I can’t help but think I had as much to do with it as his drinking and bad business.”

“Things happen beyond our control,” Trace said. “If you knew, you probably would have done something about it.”

“By the time I found out, it was too late,” Tom said. “Demeter found out and held it over my head. Because he wasn’t receiving anything from my father, he gave me other things to do. I had to prove my loyalty and worth.”

“You became a snitch,” Trace said.

“How did you know?” Tom said.

“I know the man, Demeter, and I know his type,” Trace said. “And why else would, at least, somebody from the group not offer some sort of help? I’m sure they were aware of what happened.”

“On the voyage here, I confessed to everyone,” Tom said.

“They already knew I was a snitch,” Tom said. “Before my dad died, I was already in trouble with Demeter. He forgave it, but it was always present.”

“What was it?” Trace said.

“Paul, Sylvia, and I had expressed doubts,” Tom said. “He figured it out. He knew that he could not compromise Paul or Sylvia, and with the situation with my dad, I was perfect.”

They walked up to the restaurant. It had wooden shutters that flapped down from above by pulleys. The ocean breeze passed through the restaurant. It was charming and cozy. 

“Here we are,” Trace said.

“This is kind of an expensive place,” Tom said. “Some arrogant American owns it. He chased me away from his cans yesterday. When you yelled, I thought it was him. Can’t we try someplace down the way?”

“It’s too far to walk,” Trace said.

“The guy looks like he belongs to the mafia or the New York Giants,” Tom said.

“I spent time on the Bering,” Trace said, “tough men, real tough. Tough men understand guts and money.” Trace clicked his cheek. “I got guts and money, and I’m from Texas. We don’t scare easily.”

They walked into the restaurant. It was empty. A large man with black wavy hair sat at the bar. 

“That’s him,” Tom said.

“He’s big,” Trace said.

A waitress walked up to the man and whispered something. The man turned. A large scar ran from his right ear to the mid-jaw. He breathed deep. His pig-like nostrils flared.

“That looks like a nice table over there,” Trace said and pointed to one having a view of the surf. 

They sat at the table. 

The man walked over to the table. “Your friend will have to leave.”

“Why,” Trace said.

“He’s filthy and not dressed properly for my usual clientele,” the man said.

“Look at me,” Trace said. “I’m dressed in kakis smeared with grease, motor oil, and grass stains.”

“Then you both can go,” the man said.

“Look,” Trace said, ‘my friend hasn’t eaten in two days.”

“Get up and get out or I’ll throw you out,” the man said gruffly,  grabbing Trace under the arm.

Trace stood and stared coldly into the man’s eyes. “Get us a menu.”

The man raised his hands to shove Trace, but before they made contact, Trace kneed him in the crotch. The man growled painfully. Trace grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his head up. “If you don’t get us a menu, I’ll grab a spoon and dig your eye out of its socket,” Trace released the grip on his hair.

The man struggled while walking away. He studied himself by grabbing chairs. He returned with two menus.

“Thank you, sir,” Trace said. “Before you go,” Trace continued, reaching for his wallet. He pulled it out and removed two hundred-dollar bills. “I think this will cover everything.”

The man took the money and took a step away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Trace said.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said.

“Give us a couple of minutes and send the waitress. Thank you,” Trace said.

Tom leaned across the table and whispered, “What if he goes and gets a gun?”

“He’ll shoot us,” Trace said. “Until then, let’s look at the menu, order, and enjoy our meal.”

Tom looked at the menu. Then he looked over the top of the menu at Trace. “Should I tell him about the coconut?”

They broke into laughter.