Tag: Reviews

The Circle

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excerpt

“Have you talked to Ibrahim?”
“Yes, I spoke to him this morning. He sends you his greetings and says he
would like to see you soon, also. He says he understands. You and my uncle
obviously go back a long way if you talk to each other in your secret code.”
Bevan laughs at his comment, “We don’t talk in code, however, you are right,
Ibrahim and I go back a long way. You have to understand, Hakim. I owe a lot to
Ibrahim; he’s been my guardian angel, having helped me a number of times over
the years and the last time was just a little too close.”
“When was the last time, Admiral?”
“Please call me Bevan. Admiral is too official and it’s not my style. Bevan is
good enough. The last time was during the war with Iran. I was there for a while
providing intelligence liaison within certain army units. Once, while traveling, I
was abducted and held in a dark place for two and a half weeks by a group of
fanatics with no specific affiliation or demands; poor guys didn’t know what they
wanted to accomplish, if anything. They kept me imprisoned until your uncle
discovered my tracks and got me out; don’t ask me how. Maybe he paid a ransom
or maybe he used other means, who knows? He never told me how he did it,
although I’ve asked him a number of times. The result is I’m alive today, thanks
to Ibrahim. There were a lot of beheadings in those days, as you probably know.”
Hakim sees another side of his uncle that he was not aware of until now. The
Admiral continues.
“He knows what I do, where I am, where I come from, and everything else
and I know a lot more than what you think you know about Ibrahim. It’s a
two-way street; he trusts me with everything and I trust him the same way, 100
percent.”
“What would you like me to do or tell him?” Hakim asks.
“Only do as he tells you, nothing else,” Bevan says, looking into the young
man’s eyes.
“That’s no problem. Am I going to see you again, Bevan, before you go?”
“No, I don’t think so; however, if you ever need me, you know how to find
me.”
“Yes, I know. By the way, perhaps it would be nice for you to come and visit
at some time after I move into my new apartment. That will be around the end of
October; better yet, I’m planning to have a housewarming party when I move in.
I’ll call you to come and have a drink with us; is that okay?”
Bevan smiles, “I’ll be very happy to do so, Hakim. Please call and let me know
when.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Poodie James

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excerpt

town and the prospects. He listened carefully to the details of the
planning. The enthusiasm of his own replies still rang in Jeremy’s
mind.
“Dad, the state is only 13 years old. There’s opportunity everywhere.
East of the mountains, they’re bringing water to the land.
It’s going to bloom and it’s going to make people rich. It’s in the
center of the state, on the river, on the railroad that runs east and
west. They’re already shipping apples to Chicago and back east.
They’ll need a good newspaper. A paper can make a difference in
how that valley develops. The man who owns that paper will be an
influence.”
“And Winifred? Is it right to take your young wife away from all
she’s known, into a wilderness?”
“It is not a wilderness.” Jeremy reached into his breast pocket for
a post card and handed it to his father. Zeb Stone studied the
scene: A few buildings, a handful of carriages, a line of poles, the
blurred image of a man striding across a dirt street that stretched
into an infinity of sagebrush and bare hills. He looked up and contemplated
the club’s spread of gardens, fairways and trees. Jeremy
was determined to go west with or without his father’s approval,
but he ached for the endorsement. The perspiration and the dread
accumulated as he waited. The severity of the look his father
turned on him, his relief when a trace of a smile appeared and his
father offered to help with finances; it was all as clear as the day it
happened.
“As it is, sir, I’m going to use your money” Jeremy told him. “I
haven’t touched the trust fund since I turned 21. I’ll take money
from that and my savings and, if need be, Win will chip in from her
inheritance. We want to do this on our own.”
“If you ever decide to go back into banking, tell me,” Zeb Stone
said. “A growing town will need a good bank.”
Jeremy never dreamed that 25 years later he would turn his
newspaper over to his wife and plunge fully into banking. Winifred
had turned out to be as good a publisher as he was, and a better,
tougher editor. He had stayed out of the paper’s business since

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Ken Kirkby, Warrior Painter

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To have the warmth and companionship fade away now that he had time
to devote to her in the pursuit of her dreams seemed to be nothing short of
cruel. Whatever it took to appease Karen would be done.
~~
Now, in Bowser, Ken was faced with the sudden realisation that he had
been living life on autopilot. It was a severe jolt for the man who prided
himself on being attentive at all times to what was going on, both within
himself and in the world surrounding him. As a quicksilver dawn slipped
above the scattering of islands offshore, Ken made a fresh pot of coffee and
realized he’d made a breakthrough. It had been a long night coming to grips
with the situation. Self-awareness was a fundamental state of mind for him,
but as he replayed the recent years, he could identify countless occurrences
that had ultimately reduced him to this astonishing loss of control.
His elusive mind was stubborn in its refusal to follow an orderly chain
of thoughts, and he became aware that for months, perhaps even years,
his overloaded brain had taken refuge in the distractions provided by an
intelligent mind. No matter how vigorously he attempted to discipline it to
the process, it slid sideways into something less conflicting.
The act of thinking had become busy work, necessary in order to avoid
the bleak despair that filled him, most especially intensified when Karen had
withdrawn. But he now recognised it was an escape mechanism that needed
to be meticulously managed. For the first time in a long while, he was
looking with a clear eye at the core of his anguish rather than retreating from
it. Gradually he was being filled with certainty that, with this awakening, he
was exactly where he should be.
My real job now was to be painstaking in programming my healing,
much as I did in Portugal when my dad turned the problem of beating
my recurring childhood illness over to me.
Ken was frequently ill in his early years. Although no medical expense
was spared, the ailment remained unnamed. He had grown weaker, thinner
and yet more tired following relocation from Britain to Spain. However,
in his mother’s Spanish culture, weakness—whether physical or mental—
was never to be acknowledged. It was only after the family rejoined Ken’s
dad in Parede, Portugal that the six-year-old was permitted to articulate…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

He Rode Tall

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“I would like to see Mr. McQuaid, the branch manager,”
said Joel.
“I’m sorry Mr. Hooper, but Mr. McQuaid is no longer with this
branch. He has transferred to our Denver offices. I am the new
branch manager, can I help you with something?” said the attractive,
middle-aged woman who Joel, conditioned in his paradigm
of chauvinism, had mistaken as a receptionist.
“Well ma’am, I sure hope so.” Joel hoped he would have a clean
slate with this manager, and not have to deal with the negative
impression he had made on his earlier visit. Joel continued, “You
see, my daddy used to bank here, and I am running short of cash
and was hoping that maybe you could help me out with a loan.”
“Why don’t you come into my office, Mr. Hooper, and let’s see
what we can do for you.”
Even if he didn’t get any money, Joel was certainly appreciating
the treatment he was receiving on this visit. The last time he was
here after his dad died, he had waited over ninety minutes to see
Mr. McQuaid, who, as the secretary explained, “was a very busy
man.” Finally, when he did get to sit down with him, Mr.
McQuaid told him that an old, rundown ranch yard and a
half-section of land really had no market value. According to Mr.
McQuaid, the Circle H could never be a functioning cattle operation
without access to at least several additional sections of
pastureland, and his home ranch was essentially worthless. Furthermore,
Mr. McQuaid also advised him that horses were worth
a dime a dozen. Joel had tried to explain the breeding and value of
his livestock to the young, city-raised banker, but it all fell on
deaf ears and he was quickly dismissed.
Finding himself on the street outside the bank within five minutes
of being ushered into the branch manager’s office, Joel had
retreated back to the ranch and made up his mind to cut expenses
wherever possible.
But now, he had run out of ways to cut costs any further. Joel
needed cash not just to pay off some of the bills …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562862

Swamped

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excerpt

“Sounds good, Eteo.”
“Okay George. How expensive is this going to be?”
“For you, Eteo,” George replied, smiling, “for you, you know …
I could do it for 16,500. I have to cover the prospector’s expenses,
that’s about 2,500, and 8,000 for my office expenses. That leaves a nice
chunk for the good guys.”
“Sounds good to me,” Eteo replied, smiling back. “Go ahead and
prepare the papers and send them to Rebecca.”
“I can have an agreement ready for your lawyer within a week.
Will that work for you?”
“A week sounds fine,” Eteo agreed, and the two men shook hands.
Alone in his office Eteo checked the prices of a few stocks. Platinum shares
were trading nicely, with good volumes and steady buying
slowly driving the price up a few cents a day. A classic case of
what they called “healthy” trading. Eteo hoped it would carry on like
this for a while longer, but he also knew that all good things come to
an end. The key was to know when to get out. As for Golden Veins
the price was stale. Eteo had had a couple of offers, which he was selling
through a different brokerage company so that no one would
know he was the seller, but he didn’t expect anyone to buy them anytime
soon.
At that moment Logan came in to his father’s office with a broad
smile on his face.
“Sam regrets selling some shares the other day,” he announced.
“It never fails, does it? Even when we sell something at a good profit,
if the stock goes up even a little bit after that, Sam regrets selling.
Now he wants to buy it back. What should I do, Dad?”
“Do what he wants. There’ll be some profit in it even at this level,
and he also has some of the cheaper stock, so his average won’t be
that bad. Go ahead and buy it back for him.”
A few minutes later Eteo noticed a buying order of 6,000 shares
bought by his house. Sam’s stock was in hand. On impulse, he dialed
Ariana’s phone and caught her doing her morning errands.
“Hello, sweet baby, want to hook up later?”
Ariana laughed and said, “What a question, but of course I want
to. Come and get me as soon as you’re done.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Swamped

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Today is one of those times. After school, the two sides gather in
the school yard and make all the customary arrangements: putting
goal “posts” in place, deciding who will play what positions, and
drawing straws to see who has the ball first. Then the game commences.
On this day, they play for half an hour and are tied two goals
apiece before all hell breaks loose when Nicolas scores a goal the
other side calls “out,” and Nicolas and his team insist it was a fair goal
and the other team shouts in unison, “Asshole,” which is all the trigger
Nicolas needs to land a couple of good blows with his fists on the two
nearest kids on the other team, and then they all take part in their ritual and fight, and not even a sudden shower of rain can stop the
upper village kids fighting their age mates from the lower village until
three or four from each side have bleeding noses and bruised arms
and faces. Nicolas of course is the keenest fighter on the upper village
side, and he manages to inflict most of the damage on the enemy
until everyone has had enough of fighting and the two teams go their
separate ways
They may be tired of fighting, but their blood is still boiling, and
this is why, when far away from the school grounds, the upper village
kids turn at the side of the hill, from where they cannot be seen from
the school anymore, take off their shoes and socks, lie down on the
wet soil, and give the lower village kids their open hands and toes.
This is their fiercest act of defiance. It is the height of ridicule in this
part of the world to be shown the open palm of another and especially
when even the toes and soles of the feet take part in the insult.
Afterwards, in their respective houses, the children from both
sides have to contend with their mothers’ angry questions: “what has
happened to you?” and “who have you been fighting?” and “why have
you got into another fight?” and “how many times have I told you
not to do this?” These are questions they have all heard many times
but that never stop them from repeating their ritual.
On another day the boys go hunting, all geared up and ready. It
is the middle of July, as hot on Crete as it is every July, and they leave

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Swamped

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Eteo’s thoughts took him back and forth between this pleasant
Vancouver afternoon with its sea whispers and almost imperceptible
sounds of the people around him and the lonely days of his childhood
when his father was far away and he and his brother struggled
to understand why. He was on the way back to his car when Logan
called to ask whether he should dispose of all the shares of the underperforming
real estate company that another client, Tom Batsas,
had in his account and switch Tom to Platinum Properties or keep
some of the real estate shares and buy Tom just a few of the new company.
Eteo advised him to tell Tom to sell all the underperforming
shares and put all the funds into the new company, which would give
Tom a good chance of making something out of this one.
When he had almost reached his car, Eteo spotted Frankie again.
This time the promoter was with two other people, Sandra Wilson, a
well-known Hollywood actress, and a young man he did not recognize.
Frankie gestured for Eteo to join them and introduced him to
the actress, whom Eteo had already recognized, and the young man,
who was introduced as Ricardo. As they shook hands, Frankie told
his companions that Eteo was an investor and a good supporter of
Lionsgate Entertainment.The others responded politely, but what impressed
Eteo most were the simple manners of the famous actress.
She spoke to Eteo as if she had known him all her life, as did Ricardo,
even though the encounter was brief and they only exchanged the
usual pleasantries.
All the same the encounter made Eteo want to find out more
about Frankie’s new venture into the realm of Hollywood and of actors
and actresses who were paid at the level of Sandra Wilson. He
knew she was one of the most highly paid actresses in the world. Perhaps
it would be a good idea to invest some of his clients’ money in
this new company, but he hesitated. He was unfamiliar with the industry.
Recommending Lionsgate Entertainment would be taking a
chance unless he delved into the details, especially the earnings potential
and success rates of such ventures. Of course, he knew very
well that every time someone put money in a company it wasn’t …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

was down to his last seventy-five dollars. And if they were going to
be able to buy gas to get back home, he had to be very careful with
the little bit of cash that he did have.
Joel and Tanya had just finished tidying up their supplies
adjacent to the stalls and were giving the horses one last look
when an attractive, middle-aged woman dressed in fancy western
wear approached them. From her looks, Joel guessed that
she had never cleaned a stall in her life. He only wished that he
could say the same for himself—in the last few months he had
done enough stall cleaning to last a lifetime. Helping Harry
change the bedding in the stalls was more of a workout than
what city people would get at high-priced health clubs. “That’s
it,” Joel thought. With a chuckle he told himself that if the
horse business didn’t work out he could always convert the
Circle H into a health and fitness center. One thing was certain,
Joel was in the best physical condition that he had been in
for years.
“You the owner?” the lady asked.
“I am,” Joel replied.
“Mary Lou Schwartz. Is the palomino for sale?”
Joel looked at Tanya and, as he saw the word “No” forming on
her lips, stepped up and replied, “Well now, I guess everything is
really for sale at the right price isn’t it?”
The shock showed on Tanya’s face. As she started to protest,
Joel continued, “What did you have in mind?”
“I was looking for a young reining horse that could eventually
join our broodmare band. This little girl might fit the bill. She’s
nicely put together and seems real sweet and gentle. How does
5,000 dollars sound?”
“Too low” is what Joel thought, but he bit his tongue, knowing
that the offer was just a starting point. He asked, “Would you like
to see her papers?”
“Sure. You are probably going to tell me that she is some kind
of a great-great granddaughter of a Doc Bar or something like
that, aren’t you?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Jazz with Ella

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the civil rights movement would make headlines in the Soviet Union. It would probably be couched in the language of the state extolling how the slave masses had risen up against the capitalist oppressors or some such jargon. She realized she had not seen a single black person since her arrival in the country, although Moscow University reportedly attracted African students.
“Excuse me. I am naïve,” he went on. “I must ask a very important question. Promise me not to laugh?” She nodded. “Is it only black persons who make jazz music in Canada or America? Or can white people like me make jazz?”
She tried not to grin at his earnestness. “Why would you ask that? Lots of people of all colours play jazz! You’re safe there to play whatever music you want…” She could see his discomfort, so she continued more gently. “It’s true, jazz has its roots among black musicians, that’s for sure. Many of them grew up singing in church choirs, like Aretha Franklin, for example. She’s my favourite. Do you know her?”
“No, tell me.” They spent the next while with Jennifer dredging up anything from her memory that she had ever learned about jazz, gospel or blues in the west to share with Volodya. While they were engrossed in this, Alya tapped on the door and entered with a bottle of brandy, some cheese, bread and a cut-up cake that she served. She settled herself comfortably with an air of possession. When the three were seated, the woman’s eyes swept up and down Jennifer appraisingly. She asked the usual questions in broken English. Where did she work? Was she married?
Jennifer responded more quickly this time on the marriage question. She had decided to answer questions with the vague, “My husband and I no longer live together,” rather than a more elaborate explanation.
Volodya switched on a radio that played American swing music. “It’s time for Voice of America,” he told her. “Reception is good at this time of day.”
“They must be broadcasting from somewhere outside of the Soviet Union?”
“Military base in Germany, I think.”
“Please eat,” said Alya, who was not having any of the cake herself.
Jennifer was just getting ready to ask Alya about herself when the woman swung toward Volodya in a gesture of approval. She rose, made her apologies, and left the bedroom with a significant glance at the bed.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Jazz with Ella

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If he pushed his face right into the window, he could just see the edge of the canal where Gennadi often waited for him to begin their sociable walk to work together. Gennadi was younger than Volodya, 22 years old to Volodya’s 31, and his taste in music was abominable, Vlad thought, but still, he was a friendly, loyal fellow and Volodya really needed support this morning.
Their job was a dull one, though it required a certain amount of mechanical aptitude. The firm they worked for serviced automatic machines: the water vending machines located on every street corner and several other types that sold carbonated fruit juices. They replenished them, cleaned them, oiled them and fixed them when they broke down, which happened frequently. It was not the profession he would have chosen, nor why he had received such a comprehensive university education at the state’s expense. In fact, he loathed it. But he was thankful it was not an office job. At least this way, he moved around the city regularly, and it was easy to take an hour here and there for a break or to practice his music. As a job it moved along like a square wheel, and this is what had sparked his current problem with his commissar, a petty, stupid man with bad teeth, who would have him disciplined for breathing. Volodya cursed a little but not too loudly.Each day, he would arrive at work more or less on time, though his punctuality was always subject to the taunts of the administrative clerk, Ivana the Terrible as they called her, she who stamped their work orders and doled out their pitiful tools. After the morning check-in with officialdom, they were on their own. Sometimes he and Gennadi went out on foot together, sometimes they caught a lift to their destination in the service vehicle. That was why he suffered this miserable job. It was in that time, away from official eyes, that Volodya could indulge his passion for jazz music by visiting a musician friend who allowed him to use his piano.
He had always been good at finding a piano when he needed one. He had been raised in Leningrad just after the war by his mother and his aunt, and the two women had denied him nothing. In a time of excruciating hardship, they made sure he had his share of toys, candy, as nutritious food as was available, and his own little bed in their tiny, grim apartment. They discerned that he was a musical child at an early age when he would drum and tap on the tabletop, his bed, anything that would make a percussive noise with interesting rhythms. They bought him a toy drum which he adored, though it nearly drove

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246