"Hey noir lovely lady, Thought your audiences may dig this . . ." ~ Daz
"Hey nifty Brit guy,
Howzabout a Boardroom Massacre
instead of a Valentine's Day one?"
~ Absolutely*Kate . . .
"And . . . So it goes . . . " ~ vital Vonnegut, (not playin' AT THE BIJOU, but he woulda dug our vibes)
Dig Daz's ~
( It's time! )
B O A R D R O O M M A S S A C R E
By ~ Darren Sant
Vinny sang along cheerfully to Hotel California as he rammed the clip home. He secured the stock to the barrel with an air of almost gleeful indifference. His little radio belting out one rock classic after another as he casually constructed the powerful killing machine with a practised ease borne of experience.
* * *
Neil tried with an almost Zen like concentration not to drum his fingers on the desk. Two hours of this drivel he'd had to listen to so far. Two whole soul destroying FUCKING hours. Thank god it's only once every six weeks he thought grimly. Three more speakers then it would be his turn to give his sales presentation. He looked despairingly at his watch and tried to stifle a yawn.
* * *
Vinny admired his handy work. Fairly quick assembly but he'd managed it quicker in the army. The L96 smelled pleasantly of gun oil and to Vinny it was a work of art, a thing of beauty. They could keep their bloody Rembrant’s this weapon was a sleek, well honed masterpiece.
* * *
Time slowed, as it always does when one is bored.
The hands of the clock above the projector moved at glacier like pace. Neil’s mind wandered aimlessly and he could not help but stifle a grin as he thought of last night.
Sofia had been at the sink washing the dishes. Her blond hair bobbing up and down as she nodded along to her favourite CD, some ghastly album by George Michael.
Neil had crept up on tiptoes behind her and cupped her firm breasts. She'd complained at first as his lips caressed and then his teeth had bitten the soft skin of her neck. His hand roamed and deftly undid her skirt, sliding down the zip at the back with one fluid motion. He nipped her neck as he ripped off her blouse roughly. She'd raised her voice sharply at this point, angry. She realised that he was naked and standing intimately closely behind her. The complaints trailed off as he unclasped her bra and threw it casually across the room. His soft hands now kneading her breasts, deft fingers sliding around her pink areolas and pinching the nipples gently. She gasped a little, all sense of complaint gone now. He knelt down behind her and slid down her panties, already smelling the heady musk of her arousal. His heart beat hard in his excited chest.
* * *
Vinny sang along now to the Beach Boys as he attached and set up the telescopic sight with all the care of a master jeweller examining a precious ring. He squinted as he sighted down the room, oh yes he was feeling those good vibrations. He adjusted the elevation minutely. He fiddled briefly with the focus and magnification until he was satisfied. He strolled to the window and opened it up just a crack, just enough for a rifle muzzle. He drew the curtains closed and kneeled on his kneepad. He flicked off the safety and began the long wait. Black Sabbath’s Paranoid pounded from the radio and Vinny’s smile left his face for the first time that afternoon as he thought grimly of the task ahead.
* * *
Neil hardened now as he thought of her. Such a beautifully sexy and curvaceous woman. Her sparkling green eyes and flawless alabaster skin drove him wild. Damn they better not call me next or I'll have to hop to the whiteboard he thought ruefully. They couldn’t continue on like this though. She had to go through with it like they’d planned. You couldn’t sneak around forever it was good for no one.
He heard his name called. He fixed his best fake smile, and walked over to the whiteboard. Knock 'em dead massacre them his ego told him. A sudden movement caught his eye as he passed the window . . .
* * *
Vinny’s target finally loomed large in his scope. He took aim and slowly, carefully and with endless patience squeezed the trigger. The light pressure took an aeon to move the trigger and time stopped then exploded back into life as the rifle kicked hard at his shoulder.
* * *
With a crash like the end of days to the startled Neil a pigeon slammed hard into the window and he leapt back startled colliding with the seated form of Randall the managing director who in turn spilled his coffee all over his notes. Neil’s false swagger evaporated like water in the desert.
* * *
FOOTNOTES TO A CRIME
In the street below an attractive blond woman in red high heels and an expensive raincoat crumpled suddenly to the ground. A crimson pool slowly spreading out around her.
Poet ... Renegade rockin' writer ... to gritty urban industrial-strength Radgepacket series contributor, Darren Sant, the DAZ-man, rocks words online and where ebooks are sold. Rockin' on, his career's now on a roll. All along the way, readership, regards for fellow authors and a heart of gold (to which I attribute his niche-name of a nickname) garner greater lustre.
I dove into a delve, or delved in as I dove, to learn more of this lustre. Daz's ready shine illuminated my investigation. There was no bluster ~
*** The guy simply, thus strongly, has a doggone deep appreciation for the PEOPLE in his LIFE:
DAZ: Not long after I met my wife she paid for a collection of my poems to be bound in a booklet. That was the most personal amazing present I have ever received.
*** He gives from depth, Daz does, to the heart of what REALLY matters:
DAZ:My brother died in September. I don't wish to be maudlin but I feel the best present I can give is for me to scatter his ashes on the football ground we used to go to. I will be doing this early 2012. I feel this is the best present I will ever be able to give.
*** My heart hugged his. Empathy emanated intuition. Darren shared how he would like to be remembered as an evolving author:
DAZ: "He was sincere and he made us laugh. A bit."
*** The fellow's sincere alright. And he has that ubitquious attitude of gratitude. You can see it. (And we have an ocean between us and his Hull, UK):
DAZ:I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I will be eternally grateful for the people who have given me a chance and published me. Including you Dearheart Kate.
*** I love it when Daz calls me "Dearheart" ... more so on Valentine's Day. So I pursued the spurt of Higher Energy I sensed around the guy. I asked him about the premise of the promise we both hold dear ~ authors taking authors the higher ... and his recent development taking up a slice of facebook real estate: The WRITING' SUPPORT NETWORK? The whys of his wise . . .
DAZ:I have answers. Sadly not the answers to Life's great mystery or even to where all the pens disappear to. However, I have answers that I'm hoping you will find fine and dandy! It’s quite simple Dearheart. I felt so much love and support out there from my fellow writers that I wanted to focus it. Social media gives all of us the chance to have our voice. The group is my way of trying to focus and amplify that voice in a pleasant and supportive environment.
*** Ahhh, been there, done that, dig that. With teeming talents and all the skies in no-limit mode, I gleaned the best sainted Sant approach for hitting the worlds he desired destiny to reach:
DAZ:Like so very many writers I am an avid reader. I’m a peculiar guy with a wide range of eclectic tastes. However, when writing I keep one thing in mind and only one - that I want to entertain. Some of my stories come out quite dark. Other stories have quite a bit of observational humour in them. Sometimes it’s morality that comes to the fore. To be honest Dearheart I can no more control what comes out of my balding head than I could lasso the sun. I care not a jot, so long as I entertain. To cause a smile or a tear leaves me tickled pinker than a lobster after a warm bath.
***Opportunity knocked. I pulled out my Valentine. But I left the radio on when we left each other to enjoy respective words across our mere ponds. The background when Daz writes? Silence? Music? Which tunes, if tunes? Does he keyboard or scrawl? Backs of napkins or a trusty notebook when story ideas assail his noggin? I surmised inquiring minds would wish to know nuggets of notarized notoriety:
DAZ:You're right. I Love your Cowboy Valentine. You make guys like me BELIEVE they can lasso the sun. Now when I write, it's rarely in silence but sometimes, when I’m particularly focused. I gotta have the vibe of lively tunes in the background. Sometimes blues or indie or rock. Sometimes haunting tunes. As for how I write it’s generally with a basic idea, a few notes or lines and then I let rip and let it come out organically. Once the first draft is done I leave it alone for a few days before the real work of editing begins.
Thank you Kate, absolutely.
You and AT THE BIJOU make me smile.
You have such a sparkling way about.
Thanks for being you my dear.
~ Dazzlin' Daz
xxx
ABSOLUTELY*KATE, believing in believers ... off the starboard
Ah Daz. The world's sure a far better place, even under all its shadows, with you writing round it, stirring up your welcome cheer. Grace o'my thanks and you keep writing over the blues and lassoing the sun.
Mr Lombardi looked me solid in the eye when he let that one fly by. I remember it well. I didn't hesitate. I winked back, and then went for the slant ... deep out ... deep in ... short post. It was a stop n'go and I caught what Bart's rifle arm could throw.
With only 47 seconds left to go, I knew we had to win. Winning was the only thing. It had been drummed into all of us so long, so well. There was no way in Titletown, I'd let us fail. Y'know, I felt Coach's momentum before I actually heard him. He was chargin' right along the sideline, takin' no chances any of us would drop the ball. This game was it. This game was all.
"If you can accept losing, you can't win."
I knew how fire-in-the-belly serious he was. Today, there'd be no grin. Well sure, naturally, he wanted us fired up --
"Kid, if you aren't fired with enthusiasm, you will be fired with enthusiasm."
Sheeeeesh, Coach Lombardi. What a guy. Born a Gemini in Brooklyn, he came ready-equipped to form a team and lead that team to double season wins of the first two Super Bowls ever played. Vincent Thomas Lombardi's dynamics were forces of an indomitable dual nature that began at the line of scrimmage and didn't let up til the endzone, when the final whistle blew.
"Leaders are made, they are not born. They are made by hard effort, which is the price which all of us must pay to achieve any goal that is worthwhile."
Goals? My life sure had 'em. Back when I played for Coach, and how! Most definitely, here and now. How could it be otherwise? In '67 and '68, when we took out Kansas City, and then the Oakland Raiders -- (the team whose coach named the Bowl "Super") -- Coach Lombardi had the team focus wholeheartedly on the "W", to make legend great. No jive, just jargon ~ over and over, this was destined fate:
"If it doesn't matter who wins or loses, then why do they keep score?"
Life's all about keeping score, making goal line stands, being an open receiver, and somedays, glorious somedays, even perfecting a sanctified Hail Mary pass. Well sure, in the super game of Life there are shifty officials, illegal procedures, botched incompletions and sometimes, when the blitz is really on, intentional grounding. That's when my hero, my Dad, who looked to Lombardi as his hero, would ask, "What are you gonna do Kid? You know you can lick anything. Just always give it your best. Always."
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get up."
CREDITS ~ All quotations are Coach Vince Lombardi's or Coach Paul Pilarciik's as noted.
Iconic Lombardi photo from the Canton Football Hall of Fame
Celestial Dad Paul photo from the Pilarcik family collection
My Dad is Paul Pilarcik. He taught me football. He taught me Lombardi. He taught me Steelers. All I had to do was sit in the living room and watch TV with him. Oh yeah, I had to be quiet too. I sure did learn a lot though. My Dad, in his own strong, quiet, humourous way, coached my life. By example, by training, by the all-out drive to reach the 'necessary line'. First and ten, do it again.
And he believed THE BEST in others so fully,
that there was no choice, no option play ~
If knocked down, Confidence got you up.
THANKS DAD.
~ Kate
I didn't really play in a game with Coach Lombardi, but I bet if I met him, I would've listened to his fortitude gain yardage . . . and I'm sure I would've winked. Yeah, I would've. And who knows - with superb pass protection?
I could - go - all - the - way . . .
But this weekend's Super Bowl plays out to the gridiron gumption between the New England Patriots and the New York Giants, not the Green Bay Packers, not even the worthy Pittsburgh Steelers. Lombardi once coached the Giants though, did you know that? Hmmm. Why, Lombardi's the kind of caliber of a man you'd think they'd name a trophy after one day. Hmm, imagine that.But can a team out-Belichick Belichick? The coach with the locker room poster from a centuries' old Chinese philosopher of war:
EVERY BATTLE
IS WON
BEFORE
IT IS FOUGHT
{ We shall see what we shall see. }
Enjoy the weekend. Enjoy the game.
Thanks for comin' round to see "THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR" in stunning author shows *AT THE BIJOU* time after time and then some. They start up again the week following the Super Bowl . . . but now ~
