THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 11 ~ ~ "THE SHADOW KNOWS" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

  The *INTRIGUE*

w h i s p e r  s

PRESENTING

OUR

  * MURDER*MYSTERY *

* MATINEE *

 

 "THE PRINTS

 AND THE POPPER" 

FROM WHERE WE LEFT OFF

 IN OUR LAST CLIFFHANGER

*AT THE BIJOU*

CATCHING UP ON CLIFFHANGERS?

CLICK EPIC*SODES BELOW:

    

Epic'sode 10 ~ The Pissing Match

 Epic'sode 9 ~ Chain, Chain, Chain 
Epic'sode 8 ~ Too Cool!

Epic'sode 7 ~ Meet Virginia
Epic'sode 6 ~ I See the Light

Epic'sode 5 ~ Lucky Shot
Epic'sode 4 ~ Hi Jinks

Epic'sode 3 ~ Groping Against Grope
Epic'sode 2 ~ The Clot Thickens
  
and the original mystery of it all ~  Epic'sode 1 ~

 THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER

 

 

 

~ ~ EPIC*SODE 11 ~ ~

" THE SHADOW KNOWS"

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and 
Harry B. Sanderford

Now reputations may flare up and reputations may die down and reputations even get run away from time to time, but instincts ~ well those reflex mechanisms will never die young. The Cheezum family fortune was not based as all present and accounted history states upon the coal, iron and steel industries foundrying along our great country. No, many hits happened along the way to easy Cheezum Street. Many hits indeed. It's true ~ Boss Gabardine was familiar with the family fabric of Boss Tweed. The lines between them ran straight as  zigzag seams it seems. Tough texture, both familes. The rough stuff of nightmares. Not dreams. 

Let's listen in at The Lucky, the Lucky Shot, where contemplative action is chugging possibilities and suspicions this stirred-up night in usually halcyon Hazelton. Penelope Payne, crack investigative reporter has noted being noted by the InterNoir hotshot she notably recalled as notorious in circumspect circles. Her theories now past conjectures, need a recounting to a trusted mind. For almost an hour Carrie Clevenger (accompanied by three robust cups of the Lucky's truest brew) has been drinking Penelope's thinking in ~ past tales of rum-runners and backdoor secret-knock-knowers supplying what Lucky Luciano needed when the need be rum, gin or guns. And instincts ~ there was a huge spiel spilled about how history repeats itself with instincts.

"They called her Fast Frannie back then, little Jeanette. They did, Carrie. She was a tomboy and a fun girl. She could bat her eyelashes as well as she could out towards the centerfield fence. She was an avid and astute learner. I've been through all her school records, city affadavits where community service was her very generous upfront thing, and for a month as hot as July down South -- "

"Was it July?" With a glint to her eye, Carrie couldn't help interrupting her pal Payne when that super-serious dame was tapping her folder of sources and showing off her reporter's notebook of notes, quotes and the multitudious observances she wrote. She wrote to get to the bottom of what was up. Investigative reporters of a normal sort admired her style, her wile. For Penelope Payne was NO normal sort. Carrie was one of the few she let in, an aimiable cohort, a partner in oncoming crime that the bylines never saw coming.

Sigh, "Yes Carrie ~ it was July. You pleased with your reading between the lines when they're presented right on top of themselves to you? Now, may I continue?"

Smirk, "Carry on."

Consulting her notes to test the lead-in for the Cheezum glory story to run on the missing Jeanette of BIJOU fame, the definitive journalism dame, Penny Payne painted brush stroke hues to her news. Notorious word scenes had a certain shimmer to bring new light around the bend to reader' senses and sensibilites, "Yes, Jeanette was the quintessential quick study. From handlebar stunts on Schwinns to what her brother Davie's Daisy BB gun could hole up on fence posts or neighborhood bullies' backsides. When needed, she'd ace play the girl-card in delicate Southern style, 'Ah do declarah Ah'm sooo vaahry saahrry! Why ah didn't know what this little wiggly thing would do if Ah squeezed it just right -- ' " 

Even with Carrie's rapt attention sturdily propped on her elbows at their table, her jaw still dropped plenty, "You're talking about the bro's BB gun right?!?"

Penny practically shook the #2 Eberhard from behind her ear with the chuckle that led to the guffaw that pushed aside her careful notes that answered her trusted friend's wide open eyes. Following a drunken day's escapades, Carrie was certainly wakening sharply to the story of the night. Penny swig-sipped her scotch and pushed the pottery mug Anthony had thrice ceremoniously plopped on their table just a little closer to the baffled dame. "Of course stooge. Where was your mind at?"

On cue, the Phantom jangled another nickel in, in the Lucky's nickelodeon. It actually cost a quarter to play the juke box, but spirited as he was, an adept-ability at getting his nickel's worth out of slinging slugs was a constant source of pride.The Lads from Liverpool serenaded the ambiance of the late lingering crowd. "Happiness is a warm gun -- "

Coffee snorted right across Penelope's copious notepad and colour-coded files. Carrie was laughing too hard to even apologize and the fellows at the bar turned stare to glare when the ruckus at Table Four regaled those Lucky folk still swaying on the dance floor. Both girls picked up the lyrics and belted out, "Bang bang -- shoot shoot."

Lieutenant Phillips heard "shoot shoot" and left his shadows to dance themselves against the wall.

Sergeant Stine caught his supposed superior's murky movement just in time to cease and desist the affirmative nods of his heated conversation with InterNoir's top gun Paul Caracas. 

Proprietor Anthony V crossed his arms, leaned his caliber against his favourite sign of the times and nodded to the music that always played inside his own noggin. Just another night at The Lucky.

"So as I was SAYING ~ , " Penelope shook her head again, sopping smears from marked-up margins of her once upon a crime pristine notepad, reconsulted her precise storyline and swirled the circumstances out for a second opinion's piping in. "Fast Franny J knew her way around firearms and clean shots and dirty dealings -- "

The sudden shadow abrupted all further swirlcomstances. This conversation was tabled.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The shadow had a voice. A shaky voice, but a voice.

"Um, Carrie, Ms Payne, have either of you two seen Lieutenant Phillips? I, uh, received word that he'd be here at The Lucky Shot uh Tavern, and uh, er, I have a message to deliver, um, personally to him."

Savvy tells, as savvy always does. Especially intensified femme-savvy with antennae on alert. For even the waning inebriation saw through the flutter of the stutter of the always poised and proper piano teacher about town, young and lithe Mrs Laurita Poe. Classic ivory keys indeed. This gal could pound some rag time too. Penelope and Carrie shared that kind of knowing glance. Their lyrics though came out discordant:

"How the hell would I know Laurita?", Carrie lighthearted out with an eyebrow arch for good staging support.

Penelope tipped her tousel towards the Lucky's darkened hallway to the back room. "You'll find the man you're looking for at the corner table with the best view of the bar." After a short pause of a quick think, she tossed in, softly, "Good luck Mrs Poe, good luck."

“Thank you Ms Payne, I read you in The Holler. I guess you’ll have quite a column to write about all this sadness AT THE BIJOU," Laurita replied eyeing the drinks on the table. 

“Pick up tomorrow’s Holler, I’ll have something ready for deadline, and call me Penny. It’s Laurita, right?” 

“Yes Laurita, Laurita Poe. I’m very pleased to meet you. I better deliver that message now but I’ll look for your column tomorrow.” Penelope circled the rim of her glass with her index finger and Laurita thought she had never been inside a bar when she needed a drink more.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Lieutenant Phillips took selective notice of the happy hours that swirled around him. The sharp crack of pool balls colliding, the tinkling of ice against glass, or the carefree laughter of labor unburdened were of little concern. He drank and quietly reviewed his list. Those that were on it were suspects, those that were not were civilians and therefore did not exist. A civilian approaching him however was grounds for making his list. “Hello Ms Poe, how are you this evening?”

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Leon caught Anthony’s eye and held his forefinger two inches from his thumb. “Give my partner here a light beer too,” he added jerking the same thumb over his shoulder at Eddie. “How’s tricks?” he offered with a nod to his old partner Dan Stine. 

“Everything’s copacetic Big Mon,” Stine shot back quoting a favorite author the two shared. 

“Good to hear it, you and the Constable got anything on the BIJOU case so far?”

“Well podnah, that’s classified information now that you’ve gone freelance. Did I hear you say this youngster is your partner?”

“That’s right, Eddie I want you to meet Sergeant Daniel Stine.” 

Eddie wiped beer sweat off his palm onto his pants leg and shot out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you officer,” Eddie said with complete sincerity.   

Daniel shook the boy's hand and told him, “You listen to this man son. He’s as good as they come.” Turning his attention back to Leon he said, “I mean that partner, you want back in all you have to do is say the word.”

“Thanks Dan, but the Bobbsey twins from homicide are out of business I’m afraid,” Leon replied quasi-quoting the same favored author and clapping a big hand on his old friend’s shoulder. 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Laurita Poe leaned in, slowly. Laurita Poe whispered, gently. Take heed. Laurita Poe's mission of a message was delivered up close and personal to Lieutenant Phillips. 

Indeed.

* C * L * I * F * F * H * A * N * G * E * R * !

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Please return to next Sunday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "

LICKETY*SPLITS ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ~ #FridayFlash delight

LICKETY*SPLITS

  

~ By Absolutely*Kate

Frankie and Joannie were lovers and OH how Frankie delectably loved. He nibbled her in the morning, he savoured her in afternoon delights and he practically ate her up with his eyes come the time she prepared their evening post-suppertime surprise. 

Sometimes Joannie went into squeeze frenzy with the Reddi Whip; sometimes she lathered on Cool Whip nice and slow, tantalizing swirls wherever the heart deco spatula wantonly wanted to go. Lickety*Splits was one of their favourite inventive tasty treat distractions. Frankie would ladle hot molten fudge wherever he preferred a pool or puddle of decadent, deep dark chunky chocolate to rivulet out an audible "Oh My" sigh, topping off their satisfaction-attraction.  

Somedays, it got so that the manager of the Niles-Vienna A&P had to ask them not to use the main aisle so frequently. The lines for the Pillsbury/Smuckers TasteOff were blocking senior citizens and new mothers on double-coupon day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Absolutely*Kate believes in believers and has moxie. (The world needs more moxie.) Her writings and some of the most tantalizing folks she knows show up at the quick flick of a #FridayFlash, on the streets of 6 Sentences, barkering a Twilight Carnival Issu, at posterous for posterity, within a whole shebang of dashing online sites, zine-scenes, crime scenes, print pages and she's even writing some apps for that ~ with The Art Department of international artist/sculptor Tom Antonishak for Apple and iPhone / iPad . . . You'll find her ever under the klieg lights she creates AT THE BIJOU, her double*features site for proudly showcasing writers’ raves to readers’ faves. As half the talent of the duet with the local lit wit, Harry B Sanderford in creating "The Prints And The Popper", a murdery mystery matinee weekend screen gem, she proses her part to double the fun. Writer/designer, promoter/publisher, she’s captaining the courageous HARBINGER*33, heralding 33 authors, 3 artists and 3 authenticators setting sail, followed by five more books in the harbour now. Naturally, she wishes you ~  “Fair Winds; Favourable Seas!”

CHASING THE WIND - PART 6 ~ Barry J Northern of Harbinger*33 presents a mysti-serial

Chasing the Wind

 ~ Part Six ~ 

By ~ Barry J. Northern

"Chasing the Wind" from THE CHAOSWIND CHRONICLES, an original fantasy set in the mystical world of Cryl, a land struggling to contain the chaotic magical energies that were unleashed upon the world when the last god was murdered.

The Mystical Story So Far ...

The warriors of a Medebian desert clan have failed to capture a rampant magical energy storm, which is sweeping the desert towards the clan's emcampment. They capture the storms with special stones, but all their stones are full to capacity. Aloethar the brewer has discovered a way to capture the energy in a special potion, which can drain the stones ready for a renewed fight against the storm. However, things go awry when a drunk visitor, a Derlander merchant called Waldfrid, swipes a bottle of the magic-laden potion and begins to drink ...

~ FOR Part One, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Two, CLICK HERE ~ 

~ FOR Part Three, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Four, CLICK HERE ~

~ FOR Part Five, CLICK HERE ~

      Zakir and his men stopped running, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand. Aloethar scrabbled away and ran wide around Waldfrid to join them. There was no knowing what would happen next. Waldfrid swilled the liquid around his mouth, and then swallowed. When he licked his lips, Aloethar saw that his teeth and tongue were black. Aloethar guessed it still tasted like kohol, because Waldfrid sniffed the bottle, and then took another swig. He was about to take a third when his eyes shot open-wide. He swayed for a few seconds and then dropped to his knees, still clutching the bottle, which dug into the sand beside him at an angle, though not sharply enough to prevent a trickle of the black liquid from leaking out. Then Waldfrid began to cry. He put his big, meaty hands to his face and cried, a high-pitched whimpering cry from the back of his throat. The kohol bottle continued to leak its precious contents, and Aloethar risked rushing over and snatching it away. He stashed it in the saddlebag – he'd have to bung it in a minute with more wax from the tent – but right now he wanted to get it away from Waldfrid. He gave the sobbing man a wide berth again, and joined Zakir and his men, who had backed further away as well.

     Zakir looked at Aloethar with sober respect in his eyes. “That was brave saving the bottle like that, Aloethar.”

     Aloethar would have smiled under other circumstances. “Brewer's instinct.”

     “What's happening to him?”

     “I don't know.”

     Issam pointed to Waldfrid. “Look at his eyes!”

     Waldfrid, still kneeling on the sand, had stopped crying and was looking at them with oil-slick eyes; no whites nor iris, just black. His face was pale and impassive. He didn't move his lips when he spoke to them. “I've seen the Source.”

     Aloethar turned to Zakir. “Did you hear that?”

     “He's seen the Source.”

     “But he spoke in Medebic.”

     “I don't think he spoke at all. It was more like a voice in my head.”

     “A voice in all our heads,” said Issam. The others mumbled agreement. They looked as worried as Aloethar felt. They watched, enraptured, for another minute, but nothing happened. Aloethar's thoughts returned to the bitter water, stewing back at the tent.

     “The aloethar pots will spoil if we don't get back to stirring them.” No-one replied. “Hey! Did you hear me?”

     Zakir ran a hand across his face and blinked, as if he'd just woken up. “Come on men. The Storm is turning south, and if it can change direction it can change speed. Let's get back to the tent and try to prepare those Stones before it gets away from us.”

     The men filed back to the tent, but Issam was worried. “What shall we do about the Derlander, Zakir?”

     “Nothing. It's not safe to touch him. We don't worry about him unless he moves, or speaks into our heads again.”

     “What is the Source?”

     No one answered the question. Aloethar wondered what the Chaoswind-infused kohol had done to the man,  and couldn't help feeling partly responsible. He hoped whatever it was would wear off eventually, and leave Waldfrid with nothing worse than a hangover.

     Pym had stayed behind in the tent, and Aloethar was glad to see that he had done his best to keep stirring the pots of aloethar. The soldiers settled down to stirring again, but Aloethar could tell by the smell that the mescal bud had broken down and would be mostly released into the water now. It would soon be time to test how well the bitter water drained the Stones. Meanwhile, Aloethar told Pym what had happened with Waldfrid outside.

     “. . . but then he just sat there on the sand, staring at us with those black eyes.”

     “No more voices in your head?”

     “No.” Aloethar lowered his voice. “Do you know what the Source is?”

     Pym shook his head. “Perhaps the scholars do, but I'm no scholar. Just a messenger who has only learnt a little here and there. We should ask them when we take the kohol to Tyntieri.”

     “We?”

     “You must come with me. The scholars will demand a demonstration, and I don't have the skill. You're the only one who can brew kohol.”

     “There are many other clans. Most have a master brewer. The scholars can buy kohol on the black market and try it for themselves. I sold most of the last season to Derlander merchants bound for Tyntieri.”

     “But we still haven't tested it on aged kohol. For all we know it might only work while the kohol is fresh. No, it must be you. We have enough raw bud left to take with us.”

     “Must we cross the seas?”

     “We will have to cross the silt-lands to Glach, and then sail a short distance north across the Channel to the continent of Tyntieri. Then there's the Burning Lake itself of course, the quickest route to Llyneirias, where the scholars study at the University there.”

     Aloethar smiled. “Sounds like more water than I ever thought I'd see.”

     “Then you'll come?”

     “Only if we stop this Storm.” He then turned to Zakir. “It's time to see if this undistilled aloethar works.” The impromptu brewers, Issam, Ahmed, and Basel (whose right eye was still puffed up from Waldfrid's punch, and turning black) dropped their spoons and grumbled that it was about time. Aloethar and Zakir each took one of the full Stones, and Issam took the Stone that had only been half-drained. Each man held his Stone over a simmering pot of aloethar. The rising vapour played across the Stones' brightly glowing undersides. Aloethar gave the word. “Lower them in.”

     At first the light from the Stones, two bright, one half so, wavered and shone through the bubbling aloethar, but did not dim. Aloethar held his breath, no-one spoke. Then Aloethar swore he saw a change. “Is it working?”

     Pym squinted. “It's hard to tell.”

     Ahmed grunted. “It had better work, Master Brewer. I've been stirring that pot for four hours.”

     “It takes six usually, but all the mescal bud should be in the liquid by now.”

     Issam looked away from the pot. “Don't tell us you want us to stir for another two hours. The Storm will not wait!”

     Then Zakir shouted, “Look!”

     The men stopped arguing and looked at the pots. The light was definitely dimmer now, hardly anything emanated from the pot containing the half-drained Stone, but the light from the other two was not only dimmer, but had changed colour. Whereas before it had been a bright, blue-tinged white, it now glowed a deep red. 

    Zakir looked up at Aloethar. “Why have they turned red?” 

     “I don't know.”

     Pym rubbed his chin. “Perhaps not all Aspects of the Chaoswind have been Binded.”

     Zakir frowned. “What?” Aloethar was curious too.

     “It's like the way you described the Chaoswind when you first came back. Like a dust-cloud filled with lightning and cords of multicoloured energy. Those different coloured cords are the different Aspects of the Chaoswind. I think the scholars know little more than that, for their job is to find ways to Bind all the Aspects, but it's said that the Mages can channel the Aspects to perform different magicks.”

     Aloethar was the first to realise the implication. “So if the Stones still contain one or more of the Aspects then they won't stop all of the Storm?”

     “One assumes not.”

     The red light from the pots underlit Zakir's face as he took up the tongs. “They are not growing any dimmer.” He lifted one of the previously full Stones out. Now it looked more like a ruby than a sapphire. “We cannot ride out against the Storm with these. It was one of the red cords that struck Thard Darwish. You have failed, brewer.”

     Zakir and his men fished out the partly-drained Stones from their pots of aloethar, wrapped them in rags, and took them out to pack in Zakir's camel's saddlebags. Aloethar protested, but Zakir said he had heard enough of his talk today. He intended to ride ahead of the Storm and lead the southward-heading caravan away to the east, into the desert where it was barren and least likely to be attracted. “And it's better to have these Stones with me than nothing at all,” he said. “I suggest you and Pym ride north from here. Take your experiments to the scholars. Leave the fighting to us.”

     It was then that the scout galloped into camp on a camel, which looked about to collapse. Aloethar felt like a child, looking up at the men, high up on camel-back, as the scout gave his news. “The Chaostorm has broken apart. It now has two main fronts, the larger front is still heading south, following the trail of the south caravan.”

     Zakir banged a fist into his palm. “And what of the other front?”

     “It is at my back, maybe only ten or fifteen minutes, and it'll be upon us.”

     The men cried out, and all began to ask questions at once, but Zakir silenced them with a raised hand. “How big is this splintered front?”

     “I'd say it is nearly twice as large as the Storm that took our Thard.” The hubbub began again, but this time it was the scout who silenced them. “Wait! I have more news. I recovered this.” He swung the leather bag he wore across his chest around into his lap, and took out a bundle of rags. Something glowed within, and shone like the sun when he moved the rags aside. “The Thard's Stone.” Zakir dismounted, and took it reverently from the scout to place in his own saddlebags with the others. “If the Thard had not sacrificed himself trying to stop the Storm with this Stone, then I would wish it were empty. But tell me, how can the front heading our way be twice as large if the southward front is the larger of the two?”

     “The Storm is growing, Zakir. The Storm-front heading south stretches east and west for as far as I could see. I can't rightly say how big it really is.”

     Zakir could not stop his men arguing after that, and so Aloethar left them. He had an idea. It would mean eschewing tradition, and moving fast – two things his father had cautioned against – but these were desperate times. He took Pym to one side. “I need you help to put my copper alembic together. The aloethar is no good, we need kohol.”

     “Didn't you hear the scout, Aloethar? Part of the Storm will be here any minute.”

     “If it's as big as the scout said, then Zakir and the others will be able to stop it with the two-and-a-half Stones we have already drained, but we will need all five Stones to have any chance of saving my sister and niece. We have to try. If we can distill all the aloethar we have in the tent it may be enough.”

     Pym nodded. “I will help.”

     Aloethar clapped Pym on the shoulder. “Thank you my friend.”

     As they made their way back to the tent they passed Waldfrid. “Look, Aloethar, has he moved?”

     “No. He's been kneeling like that since he drank the black kohol.”

     “What will happen to him when the Storm arrives?”

     “Let's hope it doesn't get this far.”

(c) 2009 ~ Author Barry J. Northern 

Pencil Sketch by ~  Artist Jon Taylor

 

C H A S I N G   T H E    W I N D

 ~ To Be Thursday*Continued ~

S E E K   N E X T   I N S T A L L M E N T  AT THE BIJOU

 

THANK*YOU BARRY

for pure energy stirring

*AT THE BIJOU*

   
~ Absolutely*Kate

        and fine staff of renown 

 
Delve deep reader to the mystical mind of Barry, a talented conjurer as magicks go. 

AUTHOR BARRY J NORTHERN is fantasy, fable,fiction, fun and fine finesse when it comes to turning out churning energy thought ~ ala the written word.  Since you are enjoying Chasing the Wind kindly  email Barry at barryjnorthern@googlemail.com and convince him to finish editing the first Chaoswind Chronicle Novel, "THE BIRTH OF MAGIC". Also, Barry welcomes you  to pop on over to experience magic on the rise in words, sounds, sensations and enlightening glimmer at the mystical energizing site, 21st Century Writer Barry J. Northern.  

OR ... you could bring some FEAR TO YOUR EARS ~ Listen in @ CAST MACABRE. (Something's always brewing!)

   
I sensate Barry's energies are contagious. They draw me in. But I won't drink the kohol . . . yet.

      

~ Absolutely*Kate

TWO DRIFTERS . . . OFF TO SEE . . . BlogFesta Response by Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

There's a DIALOGUE BLOGFEST going on today, and I've been asked to rustle around this pile here on my desk and produce some of that semi-decent back-and-forthing which sparks what makes the world go 'round . . . or . . . what some of my characters think does.

Here goes . . .  from the third chapter of SAM'S SONG, my noir-goes-political novel moving towards the perfect publisher after a certain spectacular tome known as HARBINGER*33 has set sail in splendour, heralding the destinies of 33 stunning authors, 3 splendid artists and 3 scintillating "authenticators" ~ the folks who make all the difference in writers' ways and means, if you know what I mean.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

This chapter's title could use your singalong:  

Two Drifters . . . off to see . . .

“This isn’t the way to go ~ is it?”

“It wasn’t my turn to bring the GPS. The Scarecrow would wile away the hours, contemplating flowers and tell you some people go this way. . . "

“. . . And some people go that way.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all that. But which way do WE wish to go?”

“That was Beatles, ’64, you can’t slide one in on me. Nelle, we go the way we’re meant to go. We – “

“You mean we follow our hearts?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Sam, it could.”

“Not if we don’t let it baby, not if we don’t let it.”

And he reached for her hand and he made her feel grand. She looked up – the sun caught her smiling that way, while he moved away the one strand that always slip-slid just into her vision. She read the grin of his mind, of course.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals.”

“Easy one Nelle. That was classic Butch and Sundance. Use a little more dynamite next time, will’ya?”

The smirk of her giggle furthered the ramble of their day. Quips were flung and the journey, begun. There were miles to go before they would sleep. 

“And promises to keep?”

“You reading our minds again?”

“It’s a tough job but someone has to do it.”

“Then you know I’m up for a good adventure – howzabout you?”

“Me? Why, I just adore a Gershwin tune . . . “

“Nelle.”

“Sam.”

(c) 2009 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate 
in the nanomojo writeathon

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

More on SAM'S SONG
after HARBINGER*33 has come to be, 
and be seen, and be manifesting destinies the more
for 33 Authors setting sail their very best treasures.

But for now ~ Over 100 Authors are on a Dialog spree,

including another of our Harbinger*33, the irrepressible John Wiswell. Here's the link ~ Have a look.
Enjoy your see.

See you again come Double*Feature Thursday AT THE BIJOU when Barry J Northern returns with his far-reaching fantasy, CHASING THE WIND. Churning energy to distilled desert action while camels endure the sands of time is what it's all about ... Now therein lies some damn good dialog . . . ("Better than camel urine," the inimitable Barry proclaims.)

Thanks for checkin' out

how DIALOGUE doth flow.

It always has somethin' to say, doesn't it?

 ~ Absolutely*Kate

      and the fine staff of renown

*AT THE BIJOU*

( THE FICTION GROUPIE ~  A spunky gal who goes by the moniker Roni Griffin and stirs up readers and authors alike from down Texas way, still has plenty to say on the DIALOGUE BLOGFEST < You can click into her sense and sensibility right here. Will ya tell her "Absolutely*Kate sent me"? She just might like that and take a hankerin' with a downhome country welcome to all our great AT THE BIJOU author'folk. There's always Promotin', there is. )