fiction

Orphan X by Gregg Hurwitz (a book blurt)

/ Karina Pinella / 8 Comments

This book is the first of a series about an orphan who is raised and trained to be a lethal agent to handle covert missions for the U.S. government. After years of stealthily assassinating so-called dangerous people, our hero, Evan Smoak, starts to question if he’s really killing “the bad guys” and decides to leave the program. By doing so, he puts his handler, Jack Johns, into a precarious situation. An older man, turns out Johns is more than Smoak’s handler; he’s also the one who raised Smoak since childhood, growing fond of him along the way.

Smoak successfully escapes anyway and transforms himself into an undercover “fairy-tale godmother” by helping one desperate individual a year. Usually, the help involves ridding the bad forces that have made the individual’s life impossible. A bigger-than-life hero is what makes a thriller thrilling, and this story delivers such a character in spades. Prepare for all kinds of action and twists. The second book in the series is now available, The Nowhere Man, and I’m on it! (I just finished reading The Nowhere Man and it is even more action-packed than ever. Our hero finds himself close to being “no more man.”)

I must mention another book similar to this in many ways, and just as thrilling: Kill the Father by Sandrone Dazieri. For a full book review, read Bookidote. (This book is also the first of a new series.)

4/23/17: Subsequently, I’ve gone on to read more of Hurwitz’s books, as listed below.
The Tower
Minutes to Burn
Don’t Look Back
The Nowhere Man (2nd of Orphan X series)
The Crime Writer
Trust No One
Don’t Look Back
They’re Watching
Hell Bent (3rd of Orphan X series)
You’re Next
Out of the Dark (4th of Orphan X series)
Into the Fire (5th of Orphan X series)
Prodigal Son (6th of Orphan X series)
Dark Horse (7th of Orphan X series)
Do No Harm
The Kill Clause
Last Shot
The Survivor
Tell No Lies

Grumble (50-word story)

/ Karina Pinella / 11 Comments

all you can eat
Dee’s abdomen churned all day and seemed to bloat by night. She rested in discomfort. Hours later it was no better. A membranous sac of creepy crawly critters burst out of her belly. Goodbye. No more all-you-can-eat feasts for Dee, observed little Tommy, who had been feeding his favorite mouse.

Adored Face

/ Karina Pinella / 14 Comments

Part 3 of 3, see Part 2

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Ron surveyed the unit, satisfied his studio apartment looked tidy. He ran to the daybed to make sure he put in new sheets. This might just be the night. A light tap on the front door prompted him to straighten his shirt and greet his guest.

“You look great.” Ron swallowed, as he noticed the top two buttons of Ronnie’s blouse were undone, allowing a glimpse of cleavage.

He took her hand and led her inside. “I thought we could have our dinner first and then relax over there on the couch.” He gestured for her to sit. “Here, please.” He pulled out a folding chair from the makeshift table, made up of two TV trays facing each other.

“Pretty candles.” Ronnie commented on the centerpiece.

Ron thanked her, glad he decided to buy the two red votive candles instead of settling for his little electric lantern, seeing that the dancing flames looked more romantic than a LED.

He took out the meatloaf and mashed potatoes from the oven, relieved he had gotten to the grocery store on time before they ran out of dinner entrées. “I hope you like it.” He placed the food on the table and sat across from her.

“Thank you for making dinner. You’re quite the cook.” She beamed at him.

“I admit I’m a man of a few hidden talents.” Ron hemmed and hawed, as he bit into the meatloaf and found it to be dry. “Oops, forgot the music.” He got up and turned on the radio to a station that played instrumental music.

They ate mostly in silence, smiling at each other between bites.  After they finished, Ron served cupcakes, which they quickly consumed. Almost bounding out of his chair, he guided her to the sofa.

“I’d like to read to you a poem I’ve been working on all week.” He took out an index card from his shirt pocket. Clearing his throat, he read:

“Roses are red, violets are blue,
Every day and every night, I think of you.
You opened the door to my heart,
Which I gladly give to you in a cart.
One slam is all it takes to make me say bye.
Then I cry because I’m a sensitive guy.”

Ronnie sighed and wiped an eye. “That is the most beautiful poem anyone has ever written for me.” Ronnie cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. “I adore your face, Ron.” They both held each other’s eyes. She started unbuttoning her blouse.

He placed his hand on her arm, interrupting her reveal. “Ronnie, I have something to tell you about me.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“I . . . I . . . ahem . . . I’ve never done it. I’ve never met anyone who liked me enough to . . . “

Ron felt Ronnie take his chin so he was forced to look her in the eyes. She smiled at him and said:

“Daisies are yellow, carnations are pink,
Let me tell you what I think,
You bring out the poetry in me
Flowing so naturally.
I see it as a sign
For you and me to entwine. “

Though they fumbled at first, Ron finally had his cherry burst.

With a flourish, Cupid bows after recounting his latest accomplishment to his rapt audience. “Thank you, all, for your loving attention. I’m overjoyed to see yet another match come together so well.”
hearts
[To read the beginning: see Part 1]

Half Breed

/ Karina Pinella / 3 Comments
monkey boy

Image: Wikipedia

While eating a banana pizza, Roscoe watches the foibles of his favorite character in a sit-com. He licks his hairy fingers clean after eating and gets up to relieve himself in the corner of his room. As he finishes, he hears the familiar turn of the key on the steel door of his Plexiglass room. Time for another exam, he thinks.

“Hey, Roscoe, ready for your check-up,” the broad-shouldered man says as he corrals Roscoe out of the room.

They walk down a short corridor and go inside Dr. Shroeder’s “Fun Room,” as Roscoe has been told to refer to it.

“Nice to see you looking bright and relaxed this time, Roscoe.” A tall, slender woman, Dr. Schroeder smiles as she takes Roscoe by the hand and leads him to an unusually long indoor playground monkey bar. “Let’s see you swing across the length of the bar twice.”

Roscoe is excited to impress Dr. Schroeder of his athletic prowess, as he starts to show off.

Dr. Schroeder is joined by her associate, who asks, “How is our monkey boy doing?”

“Please don’t refer to Roscoe that way,” says Dr. Schroeder, somewhat taken aback. “I consider him as a human boy.”

“Just make sure you give him a full body shave whenever you decide to go public with your experiment,” replies the associate.

Afterwards, the associate leaves Dr. Schroeder, who is left thinking not for the first time if she would ever reveal Roscoe is her son.

Inhale

/ Karina Pinella / 25 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

She inhales, deeply. Then coughs. A lot. Her eyes almost pop out. Slowly, she feels the effects. She inhales again, knowing another bout of coughing is inevitable. But the sweet pain shooting through her lungs is worth it for she’s sensing herself relaxing. She relishes the moment; she doesn’t have much time left. Her insides start to rebel, while from the outside her body becomes more still. What a sensation. So, this is death by smog.

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 1 of 4

/ Karina Pinella / 10 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Deep in the woods of Pine Valley somewhere in the northeast part of the new country is where shadows rule the isolated acres of trees. Only a few have ventured there. Among them was a poor soul by the name of Kevin McCue; he took a wrong turn as he drove on the long, winding, mind numbing drive up toward the hills. His destination was supposed to be a cozy cabin in a small town called Spruce, to celebrate Christmas with his young family. Instead, he made a detour that fateful day.

Later on, his journal was found near the Zipcar he drove. The rented Honda Civic was in a ditch. Yet there was no sign of Mr. McCue anywhere. As caretaker and Sheriff of Pine Valley, I pored over the journal to find a clue of his demise. And right now I don’t feel optimistic.

Peruse the journal entries for yourself, Mr. Lang, so you can confirm what you need to with his grieving wife. Please make yourself comfortable and read, while I pour you a cup of tea.

“Dec. 21: I’m excited to see my baby Nicole and my beautiful wife, Penny. I told Penny this is the last long distance trip I’ll take for the next two years. I’m going to be home more often so Nicole will know she’s got a daddy. I’ve been driving for eight solid hours and I’m getting tired. The weather has been surprisingly mild up here in the hills. I’ve decided to stop in Pine Valley to take a quick nap and then resume driving. My head is starting to feel light, so I’m going to stop writing for now and get me some sleep.”

To be continued

The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Pilfered

/ Karina Pinella / 10 Comments

[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters. 2 of 3; See 1 of 3]

sweaters

Christmas music plays through the tinny speakers in the function room of the once popular downtown hotel. In spite of the worn carpet and faded drapes framing the bottle glass windows, the people getting ready for the Annual Ugly Sweater Convention are happily lining up chairs to create a stage. One of the highly anticipated events is the ugly sweater parade around the room and the judging. The grand prize winner receives an original, one-of-a-kind ugly sweater crocheted by one of the judges.

“I can hardly wait until you show us what you’ve crocheted, Henrietta,” Jody says to the petite woman helping her set up the chairs.

“Tell us the story behind what you’ve created.” Linda, another judge pipes in, as she joins them in getting their stage ready.

“Given that I had a whole year to think about it, I feel as if my hands connected well with my brain, because I just let them both go to town,” Henrietta says, smiling about the experience.

By this time, the rest of the judges have joined them. Henrietta beams at the attentiveness of her four colleagues toward her work. “The setting is classical–a wintry scene with a half-created snowman; that’s because Santa was interrupted by Rudolf the Red-nosed reindeer whose nose had fallen off. The elves are crawling about under a Christmas tree, which happens to be topped by Rudolf’s red nose.”

“How clever. It sounds intricate,” Donny, the only male judge says.

“Yes, I used a lot of different colors to make them all stand out.”

“We better get a move on. People are streaming in. Why, look at that ugly sweater.” The other judges look in the direction she’s gazing. Suitably impressed, they conclude all the sweaters are ugly. They disband and mingle with the crowd.

Soon after the end of the ugly sweater story telling event, the parade starts. About a hundred or so people walk around the room, proudly displaying their frontal artwork to the five judges, each absorbed and taking notes, some murmuring among themselves.

At long last, the judges come to their final decision. As the one who crocheted the prize, Henrietta announces the winner. She wheels in a clothes rack, which has a vinyl garment bag hanging from the top. Eagerly, she unzips the opaque casing. As she takes out the sweater, she gapes as she sees a plain red sweater without the swirls, pomp-poms, appliques, ribbons, and yards of yarn she has applied. She sputters, “This is not the sweater I made!”

One of the judges cries out, “Someone has stolen it!”

Never before in the history of the event has this ever happened. Without much experience in such matters, the Ugly Sweater Convention planners promise the good people that day that they will launch a full investigation. Leading the charge will be the famed Detective David LaFoote, well known in their town as the sharpest tool in the shed.

The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Ripped Off

/ Karina Pinella / 18 Comments

[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters; 1 of 3]

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

The air is full of excitement. Tomorrow is Ugly Sweater Day and everyone is looking forward to it. People are staying longer in the water dispenser talking about their sweaters.

“My sweater has one big boob on one side, covered with a green pom-pom. Beat that!”

“Yah, that’s ugly. But mine has the body of a penguin on the front, right under the neckline.”

Snatches of conversation followed by guffaws can be heard in every corner. Darren sits at his desk, working, but obsessing on how he still doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear for the big day. He went to Target over the weekend but the prices for ugly sweaters had been hiked. He’s not about to spend $35 for a sweater he wouldn’t wear more than once a year. Then, he remembers the discount department store at an outdoor shopping mall, which is a 15-minute walk from his office park.

When lunchtime approaches, Darren hurriedly heads over to the mall. He is forced to walk because his car is at the garage and not available until tomorrow. As much as he dislikes treading over roads with no sidewalks, he hates it even more if he doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear the next day.

Having successfully reached the store, Darren goes to the clearance rack. He pumps his fist up in the air when he finds what he considers the ideal. After paying for it, he practically runs outside to get moving. The walk feels long because he has to retrace the terrible route that got him here. He clutches his bag as he tries to avoid being run down.

Suddenly, he’s knocked off his feet and lands on the small strip of dirt, off by the roadside. Did he get hit by a car? He feels as if he’s been punched in the back. What was it? As he raises his head, he sees two feet running off. He realizes that he’s been pushed. He feels around for his bag and sees it’s been stolen. Close to tears, he gets up, dusts himself off, and heads back to the mall. Tomorrow he will wear an ugly sweater, come hell or high water.

[See story 2]

Insomniac

/ Karina Pinella / 9 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Rich’s eyes water from fatigue, the bags under his eyes are dark from weeks of not being able to sleep through the night. The sleep specialist he had finally gone to see gave him specific instructions to reset his circadian clock. He cannot take naps and he has to stay up until 12:30 A.M. for the first week, and then get up at exactly 6:30 the next day. The amount of sleep he can expect will incrementally increase an hour each week until he can hold a six- to eight-hour straight sleeping pattern. Such a possibility inspires Rich to do all he can not to succumb to a quick nap on his recliner chair, where he has dozed off so many times. Before he gets too comfortable, he decides to go outside and take a walk. At 11:30 at night he can be assured of getting that extra hour of jolt.

Zing. Dodging a bullet from a drive-by shooting, he drops down to the sidewalk. Hurriedly, he gets up to cross the street before he runs into a group of drunken young punks who sound like they’re looking for a fight. He walks to the little patch of green they call a park in the area, breathing in deeply only to inhale smoke from a bum savoring the last tip of his cigarette. Quickening his pace, he goes further down a street he doesn’t think he’s ever been through. Always learning something new, he thinks, as a howl pierces through his thoughts. Sounds too close. He looks around. A few feet down he sees two glittering red eyes sitting atop a hairy animal face. Without further curiosity, he turns and tracks back to his home like he’s never done before.

Upon reaching his place, he opens the door and immediately shuts it. As he finishes locking the last of the three deadbolts, he hears someone clearing their throat. Slowly, he turns around. A very pale man with arched eyebrows smiles, revealing two particularly sharp teeth gleaming on either side of his mouth.

“How’d you get in here?” As soon as Rich asks, he simultaneously recalls going outside and not locking up because of the screech of tires and the shooting that followed.

“When the door is unlocked, it implies an invitation,” the man replies, walking toward Rich with arms extended, as if drawing him in. “As your guest, I thought I’d give you a gift.” He gets closer to Rich, who is paralyzed and mesmerized at the same time.  Then, all becomes dark.

When Rich comes to, he finds himself sprawled on his La-Z-y Boy recliner. “Oh no, I took another nap,” he says, getting up from his chair and heading to the bathroom. He washes his face and looks at the mirror. He notices two puncture holes on the side of his neck. He shivers. Behind him is a pale man whose grin is not reflected in the mirror.

Locked Out (a 50-word Story)

/ Karina Pinella / 9 Comments
rocker

Image: Pixabay

Darla stands on the front porch, staring at her locked cottage. How stupid to have forgotten the key. It’s too late at night to call a locksmith or anyone. As she settles into her rocker chair to doze, the front door creaks open and a cloaked figure summons her inside.