Road Rules Online

“Absolutely, sir,” said Mason into his cell.  “I’m already on it.”  He snapped the phone shut, then reopened it to dial another number.  He went through Walden’s voice menu hell and eventually reached the Claims Department’s training pool.

A young woman answered.  “Claims, this is Brandi Hagemeyer.”

Mason smiled.  He could almost hear the “i” at the end of her name.  “Brandi, this Mr. Mason.  How’d you like your chance to shine?”

(continue reading…)

Carlo Estevez wondered if he’d have a coronary when he heard the word “empty.”

Before Gallagher could visibly react to the altar boy’s words, a buzz swept the crowd.  Estevez pushed his way forward and climbed up on the altar, flashing his badge at the reporters starting to crowd forward.  “Police,” he said, elbowing aside one annoying guy from the Plain Dealer out of the way.

He noticed that red-headed freak Mason had his cell phone out, as did every reporter in the sanctuary.  At the moment, Estevez didn’t care.  He’d deal with that idiot as soon as he secured the altar and the shipping crate.

Off to the side, Mayor Parsons and one of the county commissioners stood slack-jawed.  The other county commissioner, a sixtyish woman fighting a losing battle to keep her greying hair blonde, muttered loudly, “This is an outrage.  This is an outrage.”

As Estevez rushed out onto the altar with one of the security guards and a uniformed cop, a chill settled into his chest.

No, no, no, he thought, Not this.  Not now.  Not when I’m putting in my papers.

(continue reading…)

“In all my time as mayor,” said Charlene Parsons, “never have I had the privilege of introducing someone of this stature at the start of his tenure.  Daniel Gallagher is a Cleveland native, as many of you know, growing up in the rough streets of Tremont.  As a young boy…”

Tim Mason stifled a yawn as he listened to the mayor talk.  Thank God I don’t live in the city with her, he thought.  He looked at his watch.  It was a little after twelve, and he had a two-thirty tee time.

Mason stood about half way back from the altar of St. Jakob’s Shrine in Slavic Village.  Up on the altar stood the droning Mayor Parsons, two county commissioners, an ancient priest, and a rather youthful-looking man in an ornate habit.  To the left of them sat a small crate under a blue tarp.

The crate under the tarp had brought Mason here.  After all, Walden Insurance had underwritten it for five million dollars.  He would have skipped this little ceremony here in Slavic Village if the company hadn’t made him come up to watch things personally.

(continue reading…)

Friday

Chapter 1

It’s a sad thing to watch a grown man wet himself.  It’s even sadder when he owes too much money.  Andre Koradovich had both these things on his mind as he tapped the tire iron against his leg.

The soiled man in question, really just a kid named Brian, sat in a straight back chair sobbing.  Two big guys with the names “Kenny” and “Zed” stitched to their shirts stood behind him.  They had duct taped his arms and legs to the chair.

“I- I- I- thought everyone’s credit was good at Andre the Giant’s,” said Brian.

Koradovich, standing large at six-foot-five, began swinging the tire iron back and forth in front of him like a golf club.  “It is, Brian, it is.”  He leaned in the kid’s face.  “That’s why you got two-and-a-half percent on the vig.”  He stood and started swinging the iron in a circle over his head.  It cut the air just above Brian’s head on each pass.

Brian winced every time he felt the breeze.  “That’s unfair.”

(continue reading…)