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csyphrett last won the day on April 16

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About csyphrett

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  1. csyphrett

    Create a Villain Theme Team!

    Created to be the ultimate soldier, the organic robot known as Trojan had not been programmed with a sense of loyalty. He decided to strike out on his own, to further his own plans of self realization. CES
  2. csyphrett

    Create a Villain Theme Team!

    We've been using the creations of Stan Lee as heroes in the other thread for the Marvels. I think we should use the creations of Jim Lee as the villains of Wild Storm. I don't know if Jim created six characters, so let's say any character he worked on. CES
  3. csyphrett

    Create a Hero Theme Team!

    Frank Cincinnati never fit in. He always stood on the outside of his circle of friends, moving in different directions. When he was attacked by Psi, Frank discovered his mutant ability. Armed with the power to use any other ability he may have encountered, Frank has become the X-Man. CES
  4. csyphrett

    Create a Hero Theme Team!

    patsy perner was granted the mystical might of Lolth so she could punish evil wherever she finds it as Spider Moon. CES
  5. csyphrett

    Create a Villain Theme Team!

    Art Simon controls the sound of silence, able to link minds, shut brains down, and other general psychic effects. CES
  6. csyphrett

    Create a Hero Theme Team!

    No but he will be able to use a railgun with the best of them CES
  7. csyphrett

    Create a Hero Theme Team!

    Eric Lenz is the hero known as the Compass. Eric was gifted with magnetic powers that he uses to build machinery of his own devising. His most famous creation is the Compass Chopper, a helicopter that flies like a jet. CES
  8. Elevation by Stephen King. Scott Carey has an odd problem and a desire to help his neighbors, a married couple from Boston, fit in with the town of Castle Rock. CES
  9. csyphrett

    The One Million Word Project

    The Shield 1940 3 “All right, Miss Rich,” said Flanagan. He liked being back in his office. He still needed to take steps. Dern might be a whiz of a detective, but he wasn’t going to crack this. He didn’t have enough evidence to do anything. “What do we know about the attempted bombing of the factory in Jersey?” “The bomb was a stick of dynamite. It was dropped through the skylight on the main floor of the factory. It didn’t do much damage since you smothered it,” said Josephine. “That’s all?,” said Flanagan. “Yes, sir,” said the secretary. “If the police learned something, they didn’t share it with the board as far as I know.” “What do we know about Arnold Courtland?,” said Flanagan. “Nothing,” said Josephine. “He wants the company, but that’s all we know about him right now.” “So the first thing we need to do is learn more about Courtland,” said Flanagan. “That requires detectives on the payroll. Do we have any?” “No, sir,” said Josephine. “Let’s start with that,” said Flanagan. “Ralph Couteri heads our legal department. Call him and ask him to recommend somebody. Then we’ll call his recommendation and see what he can do.” “Are we going to have more guards for the factory?,” said Josephine. “I think so,” said Flanagan. “We need more than Pop Stevens at the gate. These guys already got by him once. At least they didn’t kill him while they were trying to kill the crew in the work area.” Josephine made a note. Maybe Mr. Couteri had dealt with security agencies as well as private investigators. “What about the factory?,” said Josephine. “How much damage was done?,” said Flanagan. “They are still looking things over,” said Josephine. “They are supposed to give a report to the board later this week.” “Let me know as soon as the report is sent in,” said Flanagan. “I expect the board will try to remove me. A lot of them don’t have that much invested in the company. They’ll want to sell everything and get out.” “But you saved the factory from being wrecked with that thing you were testing,” said Josephine. “Doesn’t matter,” said Flanagan. “They are going to claim that we should give in to Courtland after this. It would be even better if I had been killed.” “So someone comes along and bullies them and they fold?,” said Josephine. “I don’t think they will. We’re gearing up for war. Everyone sees it. The company will make a mint in the next few years. They won’t let that go.” Flanagan nodded. His company would be a small cog compared to others vying for contracts. They stood to triple their earnings if the government asked them to supply parts for the Army and Navy. That could be why Courtland wanted to buy the company before they turned their earnings into something to rival the big boys that also wanted contracts. Once he had control, he could rake in as much as he wanted with no problem. Flanagan frowned. He had a nest of theories. He had to rule some of it out so he could see the real picture. Then he could try to figure out what to do about his saboteur. If anything he expected another attack to try to finish the job. “Go ahead and call Couteri,” said Flanagan. “Get him working on the security and investigating part of things. Then I need to look at the contracts we’ve signed in the last three years maybe. I doubt there is anything there, but I want to make sure.” “Mr. Courtland?,” asked Josephine. “Put him through if he calls,” said Flanagan. “It will probably be another demand for me to sell with some veiled reference to something else happening to the company if we don’t. If he keeps at it long enough, he can drive our stock down so that he can pick it up for pennies on the dollar and just take over.” “I understand,” said Josephine. “Let me get the copies of the contracts you want, and then I will call Mr. Couteri.” Flanagan rubbed his face with his bandaged hands. How did he protect his company and his employees. All of them could be targets until he figured out what was going on and took care of it. At least his petrified shirt had worked better than he thought it would. It had saved his life when he should be dead. If he wanted to be a masked man, he could do worse than building armor out of the mix. Josephine returned with a stack of folders. She placed them on his desk. He squinted at the paperwork. This could take longer than he had thought at first. “Mister Couteri said he knows someone. They’ll come by to talk to you later today,” said Josephine a few minutes later. “Thank you, Miss Rich,” said Flanagan. He had the first file open in front of him. His finger marked where he had stopped reading. “If anyone from the board calls, I’ll take it, or if someone calls about trouble at one of our places, I’ll take that. And Courtland. Everyone else will just have to leave a message unless it’s life or death.” “I understand,” said Josephine. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She stepped out of the office and closed the door to leave him in peace. She hoped he knew what he was doing. The doctors didn’t like him checking out of the hospital and going back to work. She didn’t think it was a wise move either. Flanagan examined the papers, focusing on parts that he thought would give him a motive. He admitted he didn’t see anything in the contracts they had signed that would prompt a takeover. There were contracts that his lawyers were working on. Maybe there was something in one of those. He searched his memory. They had two contracts with the government waiting to be signed as soon as the set up work was done. Flanagan leaned back in his chair. Those contracts were confidential. As far as he knew, his people were still bargaining with the appropriations people on how much they would pay to buy the parts they wanted. Could Courtland know about that? If he did, how did he find out? Flanagan had no illusions about absolute secrecy. There were a ton of people involved who could have leaked the information to Courtland, or set him up as the buyer so they wouldn’t be exposed. That was something he would have to talk to Couteri’s investigators about when he called them to get them started. Who was on the negotiating team for his side? He realized he didn’t know. Maybe it was time he found out. “Miss Rich?,” Flanagan said into his intercom. “Yes, sir,” said Josephine. “Can you find out who was assigned to selling the government parts?,” asked Flanagan. “I’ll have to call down to the sales office,” said Josephine. “I’m not sure there will be anyone down there at this time of night.” “What time is it?,” asked Flanagan. “It’s about nine, Mr. Flanagan,” said Josephine. “Mr. Couteri called to say he would get on your request. I haven’t taken a call from Mr. Courtland, or the board.” “Can you get me a cab,” said Flanagan. “I would like to go out to the factory and look around.” “No problem,” said Josephine. “I’ll call one for you. Do you need me to ride down with you?” “No,” said Flanagan. He locked the contracts up in his desk. “I assume if Courtland is going to call, he’ll call my work area. The board might not even know I’m out of the hospital. When you come in tomorrow, I want you to find out who is negotiating with the government and get a list of everybody on both sides, lawyers, senators, congressmen, everybody. Put it on my desk for me.” “Yes, sir,” said Josephine. “Is there anything else?” “Go home and get some sleep,” said Flanagan. “We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.” “Yes, sir,” said Josephine. “Do you think they’ll try again?” “I don’t know,” said Flanagan. “We’re waiting on their next move while trying to figure out who the players are. If we can identify what Courtland wants from the company, and if he was behind the dynamiting, we might have something we can use to shut the attempts down.” “All right,” said Josephine. “I will get that list the first thing in the morning.” “Thank you,” said Flanagan. “I’ll see you in the morning.” “What are you going to do at the factory?,” asked Josephine. She reached for her phone. “I’m going to look around and see what I can see,” said Flanagan. “I would like to know how much of the blast was contained for example. Falling on top of the dynamite was a stroke of good luck on my part.” “I’ll have a cab waiting for you by the time you get downstairs,” said Josephine. “Thank you, Miss Rich,” said Flanagan. “Be careful. We don’t know what Courtland will do once he knows I am out of the hospital and moving around.” “I will,” said Josephine. “You be careful, Mr. Flanagan. A lot of us depend on you. If something happens to you, the rest of the board would think nothing of tearing the company apart for a little bit of money.” Flanagan couldn’t disagree with her assessment. He headed to the elevator, thinking about what he knew so far. He admitted he didn’t know enough about Courtland. The motive of wrecking something just enough so you could take it away from someone else was there, and it was as old as the hills. It didn’t mean much if he couldn’t prove it somehow. He stepped out of the elevator and headed across the lobby. He doubted Courtland knew he would be at the factory, unless he had called to make sure that he would be there. That showed extensive research into his habits. Very few people knew that he used the lab under the factory all the time. Which one would have told Courtland that? Maybe Courtland had him followed around to learn his habits. That was better than thinking that one of his associates was in cahoots with the buyer. He filed the suspicion anyway until he could rule it out. People did things for money they wouldn’t consider for any other reason. If Courtland promised a section of the profit from the company, or keeping the mole on the board, or maybe a huge settlement, then selling the company out might be on the table. Flanagan crossed the lobby. He saw the cab and realized that he didn’t have his wallet with him. He rubbed his face. He needed to get to the factory. His lab had some spare money he could use to pay the cab driver off. Tomorrow, he would have to replace his identification. He should have asked Miss Rich to bring him his spare money when he asked her to get his suit. He patted his pockets as he walked up to the cab. He reached in. Miss Rich had put some money, a spare checkbook, and a pen in his pants before she gave them to him at the hospital. He smiled. He needed to give her a raise. “Where to, Mac?,” asked the cab driver, getting out of his car. “I need to get to New Jersey,” said Flanagan. “I have some business to take care of there.” He gave the driver the address of the factory. Flanagan settled in the back seat as the cabbie drove out of the city and across the state lines. Once he was back in his lab, he could take a nap, and look over his notes from that night. He realized that he had sent Miss Rich into the place with the mixture still sitting in its bowl. He put the thought aside. He had to trust someone. Miss Rich had proven worthy of that trust for years. He could count on her. If he couldn’t, he had already exposed his test work to her. She could duplicate it if she had the log sheets from the book. The cab pulled up in front of the gate. Flanagan paid the driver, walked through the gated entrance to the lot while waving to the guard. He headed for the front door of the factory. He descended to the door to his lab. He found it locked. What had happened to his keys? They must have been scattered in the explosion, or left at the hospital. Did the hospital have his personal effects? He hadn’t bothered to ask. He noticed a upside down cup at the foot of the door. He picked it up. His keys lay underneath. He smiled. He definitely was giving Miss Rich a raise after he had everything sorted out. He took the keys and opened the lab door. He stepped inside and looked around. Everything looked like he had just left it. The only difference he could see from his casual inspection was the mix in the bowl had hardened into unusability. He could mix more now that he knew how to do it. //207709
  10. csyphrett

    The Wooden Stranger

    2 Logan thought about the two gangs. He would not be able to pressure any information out of them as himself. No one wanted to talk about a shooting to a newsman unless they were stupid. How did he crack them? He decided the only thing to do was put on his other face and see if he could do something to get some information. If he could get the name of the shooter, he could call that in as a tip and let the police focus on that person. He would also give the name to Phillips to follow up on after he was done checking out the burglary scenes. The city didn’t need his other face all that often, but sometimes it was the only way to deal with things that balked normal methods used by the law. He doubted that becoming a vigilante would get his father’s approval, but it helped protect the city. The answers he got sometimes led to the exposure of rot in the system. Cutting that rot away allowed the city to operate better. He knew it was an ongoing process. Like any gardener, he knew that pests and weeds had to be removed to let the flowers bloom. Logan decided to leave his battered Datsun in the parking lot for the paper. He didn’t want anyone to see it and connect it to his two lives. He had one more thing to do before he started asking questions. He pulled his phone from his holder and dialed his home. He had to let his wife know what was going on. Gloria and Brady was the only ones who knew what he did some nights. They needed to know what he was doing so they could cover up his extracurricular activities from his own papers and radio stations. “Hey, Log,” said Gloria. “How are things at the paper?” “I have to talk to some people before I come home,” said Logan. “Do you want me to bring in anything?” “You’re not taking Brady?,” said Gloria. “I’m just swinging by to talk,” said Logan. “I will be glad to take him when I need something blown up.” “All right,” said Gloria. She laughed lightly. “He loves the sidekick life.” “One day he will be protecting the city,” said Logan. “I hope that I have shown him some basic skills and a good outlook on life.” “I’m sure,” said Gloria. “Bring home some pizzas. That will make up for you not being home on time.” “Will do,” said Logan. “I love you.” “I love you too,” said Gloria. “Don’t do anything reckless.” “I’m just having a talk with a man about his friends,” said Logan. “You couldn’t get more boring.” “And how dangerous is this source?,” asked Gloria. “Not as dangerous as me,” said Logan. “I will be home in a bit.” Logan hung up the phone. He put it back on its holder. Night drifted outside the window. He put the photos from Phillips in a folder as he looked around the nearly empty room. He walked out of the room and headed for the roof. He stepped through the rigged roof door. It only rang when someone else tried to go out on the roof. He looked over the city with the file of pictures in hand. He concentrated to call on his other face. A wooden sheathe covered his body, masking his face with another appearance. A cape of leaves dropped from his shoulders. He stood like a statue for a moment before he walked to the edge of the roof. Logan slid the folder inside his wooden body before he leaped from the roof of the paper. He extended a pole to the ground and used that to land on the roof across the street from the paper. He shrank the pole and ran across the roof and pole vaulted to a building across that street. The address for Clinton was just off Downtown in a neighborhood slated for gentrification which would drive the residents out. Clinton might have enough money flowing in from the Aardvarks not to have to move when richer people moved in. The Aardvarks were prominent on the local scene, but he couldn’t recall any mention of them in national reports. They might not have a longer reach than the city. Logan dropped down to the street when he ran out of roofs. He used the shadows as much as possible as he walked through the neighborhood. He paused when he reached the address he wanted. How should he do this? Should he knock on the door? Should he break in? Should he wait outside until someone showed? He decided the direct approach was the best approach. Logan walked across the yard, stepping around a small tree. He climbed the three low porch steps to stand at the front door. He knocked on the door with a wooden hand. The door opened to reveal a sixty year old woman in a hairnet and bathrobe. She frowned at the apparition knocking on her door. “What do you want?,” she asked in a shaking voice. A tremor ran through her body. “I’m looking for Buck Clinton,” said Logan. “Does he live here?” “He’s not home right now,” said the woman. “He’s hanging out with his useless friends.” “Would you know where that would be, ma’am?,” asked Logan. “No,” said the old lady. “Sometimes they hang around that burger place on Barlow.” “Thank you very much, ma’am,” said Logan. “I’ll let you get back to your bed. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” “Night,” said the woman. Her shaking hand closed the door on Logan. Logan turned and walked through the yards toward the end of the block. He turned again and headed away from Downtown toward Caskill and Barlow. A huge amount of strip malls, stand alone stores, and restaurants lined those two streets. One end of the street went toward Downtown. The other vanished out in the county on the way to the next county and the little towns between Walton Pond and the next city over. He vaulted to the roof of a strip mall and worked his way down Barlow until he found a Bowzer’s with a bunch of young men standing around in the parking lot. He decided to ask which one was Clinton so he could ask his questions. Logan dropped down in the parking lot. He looked at the group. Someone would do something. They all had that look. It was easy to believe that one of them had shot a little boy by accident because he didn’t have the proper training with a weapon. “Who’re you supposed to be?,” said one of the gangsters. His totem animal, the aardvark, was a tattoo on his hand. “I’m looking for Buck Clinton,” said Logan. “I heard he was a coward and a blowhard that needs to be put in his place.” “I’m Clinton,” said one of the men. “What do you want?” “I want to know which one of your gang shot the little boy last week,” said Logan. “Why should I tell you, freak?,” said Clinton. He pulled his pistol in one move. Logan extended his hand. A log leapt from it. The piece of wood spun in the air until it crashed into Clinton’s face. The gang leader went down. He still kept a grip on his pistol. The wooden hero swept his arm in a circle. A wooden stick beat on the gang members within striking distance as he advanced on Clinton. The gang leader tried to raise his pistol to shoot his nemesis. The end of the staff came down and disarmed him. It reversed back and struck him in the face. Logan picked up the pistol and absorbed it into his wooden shell to take with him. Maybe the police could match the gun with other crimes in the area, even if it wasn’t for the dead boy. “Anybody want to talk to me?,” asked Logan. “One of you must know who shot the little boy when you had your fight. Why don’t you say something?” They all glared at him. Some of them had their hands close to their weapons. They were ready to fight if pushed, but in close quarters, most knew they would probably shoot themselves trying to shoot the wooden target in front of them. “I want you to leave the city,” said Logan. “If I see you again, I will hurt you. You want to live here, I want to know who killed the boy. Until I do, any of you I see, I am going to hurt. That’s what’s going to happen. I’m giving you until sundown to leave town and not come back.” “You can’t do that,” said one of the gang. “Either I get the shooter, or I make examples,” said Logan. “That’s the deal. Sundown tomorrow is all the time I am giving you. After that, expect a stay in the hospital.” Logan backed away from the mob. If they went for their guns, he would have start throwing logs at them. He had one trick that he didn’t use very much that could wreck a car. He had no doubt it would put a man in the hospital, or the morgue. Logan walked around the burger joint. He climbed up to the roof and sat down. He listened as the gang got themselves together. Most of them didn’t like his disrespect. Some didn’t like his reputation as a meddler. And Clinton didn’t like the fact that he had lost his sidearm. He shouted for everyone to load up so they could find him and shoot his tree butt. Logan wondered if this was how the gunfight with the Razorbacks had started. Words had been exchanged, then everybody had started shooting. He had to look them up. He couldn’t put pressure on one gang, and let the other one slide. Maybe the hogs would be more cooperative. Someone had shot the boy. He wanted to know who. Once he knew, he could turn the guy in and help settle the city. Clearing the gangs out had to be done on principle. He should have had a talking with them before this. He regretted not doing something about them sooner. He had spent too much time chasing other bad guys the ones he hadn’t kept his eyes on had multiplied. He called up the address for Deshawn Barden. It was across town, heading for the North Point. He wondered how they would take his demands. He supposed that they would say that no caped freak was running them out of town. He might have to use a little more force on them. They were going if they couldn’t tell him who had shot the boy. He had already made up his mind about that. He couldn’t stop all crime in the city limits. He could make two groups of lowlifes miserable. He could even take time out of his schedule with the paper to keep making them miserable until he had an answer. Logan crossed the city using a bus passing his way, then an eighteen wheeler heading north. He dropped down into the North Point and walked through to where his suspect lived. He was rewarded with a party with too much booze, too many people, and too loud music. No one would call the police to shut this down. The Razorbacks would make them miserable if they did. He decided to walk in. You can’t make people afraid of you if you were afraid of them. Logan crossed the porch, saying excuse me as he pushed through the crowd. One guy tried to punch him. He blocked, then jammed his staff into the guy’s gut, then he pushed the guy over the railing. The onlookers never saw the staff appear and disappear. He asked for Barden. One of the women pointed to a shirtless man with five necklaces and a bandana tied around his head. He thanked her and walked into the house. “What do you want?,” asked Barden. The music still played but all eyes were on the two of them facing off. “I would like to know who killed the Garret boy when you faced off with the Aardvarks,” said Logan. “I don’t have nothing to say to you,” said Barden. “I have something to say to you,” said Logan. “It’s the same thing I said to the Aardvarks. Either I get the name, or you all get out of town and don’t come back by sundown.” “You think you can make us,” said Barden. He grinned at the demand. Logan pointed at the stereo. A cascade of wooden missiles flew across the room like a stream of hammers. The thing fell to the floor with dents and broken parts everywhere. “The name or sundown,” said Logan. “Otherwise I will make you miserable until I get what I want.” Logan made a small salute like he was tipping a hat and walked out of the house.
  11. csyphrett

    What Have You Watched Recently?

    I liked the part with the rhinos the best CES
  12. csyphrett

    2017(And 2018 too) NaNoWriMo thread

    This is the wrap up of the first story. I am working on the second story and have ten K Two weeks later, I lay on the visitor’s couch with my paws in the air, thinking that I should get water from the kitchen sink, but not wanting to get up. I had went through my appointments and felt like just lying in place since getting home from the office. Omes had gone off on some errand related to the airship he was trying to find. He would be back soon. That was when we would decide on dinner at home, or the club. I was in the mood for fish, so I favored the club. They had cooks that knew how to grill some salmon. “Omes is back,” said Addison. “Are you two eating in, or going out?” “I have no idea,” I said. I righted myself and drew up into a ball. The thunk of Addison applying the brake to his spin, and the following thump of him vanishing from reality was interrupted by Omes walking into the parlor. He hung up his bowler and coat before sitting down at his desk. He opened his main screen and wrote down some notes from a slip of paper. “I think I have a name finally,” he said. “I have to make sure this is the right man. You want to come along?” “I think it would be better if I did,” I said. “The slingshot from Excelsior’s base is owned by the McMahon Corporation,” Omes said. He turned to the screen with the slingshot pictured on it. He opened another window and put up three pictures for me to examine. “Lucy and Linus McMahon, and their father Luther.” Luther McMahon matched the man we had talked to by screen when we had investigated an imposter impersonating people to send them to jail while he walked away with the stolen goods. I felt an urge to rip his arms off now that I knew who he was. “How did you find this out?,” I asked. Omes might have attracted attention with his search. The McMahons might actively try to get rid of him now that he knew who they were. “I used the slingshot to find them,” said Omes. “I spent the time after the Hughes case following the ship around the Industrial Quarter to make sure there was a solid link to the building we found. Then I narrowed it down even more by searching building records. If I were to show Luther McMahon’s picture to Costello, I am sure he would want to serve warrants right away.” “And why don’t we do that?,” I asked. I would be glad to let Metropole hang this fish as long as I got some alone time with him. Some anger needed to be expressed about his callous indifference to life. “Because all we have as proof is the picture on the screen in that warehouse that could be faked by anyone who knew who he was,” said Omes. “We need something ironclad before we try for him.” “We need the world’s biggest smoking gun,” I said. I couldn’t fault the logic. If McMahon had some connection to Metropole, the chances of evidence being lost increased. “So we have to build our case slowly,” said Omes. “Once we have something that can’t be swept under the rug, then we can release it to the world. Let the government and the press take up where we stopped.” I rubbed my ear. Leaving things to the bluecoats is what Omes said now. In the future, he would be doing something to make the man come forward and incriminate himself. Omes didn’t share the spotlight when he didn’t have to. The main screen that Omes used buzzed. He blacked out his two ongoing searches and the pictures of the McMahons on the three alternate screens before he answered the call. “Omes?,” said Colin Hughes. “What have you done to me?” “Nothing,” said Omes. “Why is your face purple? Is something wrong with your screen?” “No, there’s nothing wrong with my screen,” said Hughes. “I thought you had solved my problem.” Omes leaned back in his chair. His expression didn’t betray the amusement his brain gave off. “Have you had any more visits from your dead friend?,” asked Omes. “What does that got to do with this?,” asked Hughes. “You asked us to stop the haunting and we did,” said Omes. “It took a herculean effort on my part to track down the flowers you were exposed to, but I did it. This seems to be something new.” “I want you to do something about this,” said Hughes. I noted that his new complexion had handprints and round impressions. I rubbed my ear. It looked like Mrs. Hughes was right unless she put those blank spots in herself. “You need to do some exercises,” I said. “The more you sweat, the faster it will come out. You might need to wear old clothes while you’re exercising. The sweat will stain your clothes.” “Do you know what this is?,” asked Hughes. “Yes,” I said. I didn’t elaborate. “What is it?,” demanded Hughes. “It’s verdian powder,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “It’s harmless.” “How do you know that?,” asked Hughes. “I’m a doctor,” I said. “I’ve seen this a hundred times. Just go outside and do some manual labor. The color will come right out of you.” “Colin?,” said Mrs. Hughes from off screen. “Are you home? Advocate Mathers and I have found a nice place in the country for vacations. He is helping me with the paperwork.” “Advocate Mathers?,” said Hughes and Omes at the same time. “I think you need to talk to your wife,” Omes said. “Tell her the condition is not life threatening and you can sweat it out.” “Colin?,” Mrs. Hughes said. She was just off screen from the sound of her voice. “Are those handprints?” “Call us when you have things worked out,” said Omes. He cut the connection with a shake of his head. “We violated the conflict of interest laws on this,” he said. “We solved his problem first before we took money from her,” I said. “I don’t see the conflict.” “I don’t think we are supposed to take work from our client’s enemy when we knew the client was going to be the target,” Omes said. “It was better than having her push him into a nervous wreck and doing something stupid to get out of it,” I said. “I have seen too many of that.” “I suppose you’re right,” said Omes. “I need to do some research on the McMahons before we try to confront them over Excelsior and their other crimes.” “Let’s eat at the club, and then we can watch the boats in Canaan,” I said. Omes stood. He looked at the darkened screens. He smiled. He reached for his bowler and coat. “Can I ask a question?,” said Addison. “What would you like to know, Addison,” said Omes. He pulled on his coat and hat. “What exactly just happened?,” the voice of our landlord said. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?,” asked Omes. “I’ll do it since it was my idea,” I said. I rubbed my ear as I sat on the visitor’s couch. I put the events together in my own mind before I said anything. “Mr. Hughes came to us because he had spent several days, maybe a few weeks, being visited by the ghost of his dead friend,” I said. “But it wasn’t a real ghost. It was a psychic projection attacking his mind. The biggest thing that Mr. Hughes felt guilty over was the loss of his friend. His wife had assumed that the plants would act on his philandering, but she didn’t know how the plants worked, and the fact the guilt was focused on the biggest mistake he had made. “Philandering is not usually considered a mistake until the husband is caught so there is no guilt about that. “So all she was doing was pushing her husband to a breakdown which might have led to an explosive confrontation with any number of people including herself,” I said. “I understand all that, but the call just now,” said Addison. “I’m getting to that,” I said. “A little patience please.” “I’m sorry,” said Addison. “Go on with your tale.” “Thank you,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “After Omes and I had examined the scene where the attacks had happened, we agreed that it wasn’t a real ghost. We performed a cursory search around the client’s house and found the weapon outside the house. We decided to catch Mrs. Hughes in the act. She broke down and told us she was trying to get her husband to admit his philandering so they could break their contracts and she would have something after the divorce.” “All right,” said Addison. “That seems simple enough. Now how did all that pertain to the call where he was purple?” “I advised Mrs. Hughes that her scheme was exceedingly stupid. After some discussion with Omes, I suggested an alternate scheme where she could show her husband was philandering with no lasting harm. There is a plant substance you can add to food that will turn people’s skins purple. It will also hold the imprint of anything touching it in the first twenty four hours,” I said. “So the handprints weren’t Mrs. Hughes?,” Addison said. “Oh.” “Exactly,” I said. “All she had to do was pick a day that she could leave for a bit, leave the stuff in his coffee, and take off for the next two days. Everything else took care of itself.” “The advocate was a nice touch,” Omes said. “She must have come up with that on her own,” I said. “So you stopped the attacks on your client by helping the attacker prove that he was seeing other women,” said Addison. He sounded amazed. “And we potentially saved them both from death, Donegal Island, and plenty of other things that I can’t think of right now,” I said. “And we were paid twice over all this too,” said Omes. “That’s enough to pay our rent.” “All right,” said Addison. “I suppose that makes things all right.” “If Hughes hadn’t started seeing other women behind his wife’s back, and his wife hadn’t decided to make him sorry about that, we would never had been called in,” said Omes. “And they wouldn’t have a reason for fixing things.” “I don’t think they’ll be fixing things now,” I said. “An advocate on the scene might keep them from going at things tooth and claw.” “We can’t help that,” Omes said. “We have our own fish to fry.” “Do you two think Mrs. Hughes would have kept going with something else if you hadn’t shown her how to do something nonviolent?,” asked Addison. “Yes,” I said. “The next thing would have been something immediate like a frying pan to the head.” “I have to agree,” Omes said. “She had already spent months growing those flowers. If we had told Mr. Hughes and triggered the divorce on his terms, she might have resorted to something faster and easier like a bullet.”
  13. IQ and Righteous by Joe Ide. Isiah Quintabe has to find a hitman that uses a giant dog as his weapon in the first book. In the second he investigates the death of his brother and tries to save two gamblers from a triad and loan sharks. CES
  14. You can talk about politics on Rpg net like I'm cool with Hirano, or Graham needs to quit being a bootlicker, or Steve King needs to do better, or I hope the next chief of staff will be better than Kelly whom Trump tried to fire but couldn't. There's a guy who works for ICE who comments on the immigration policy and what the news says. He's never been warned as far as I know. What you can't do is say Trump has the right idea. We should put all the jewish gay brown people in cages so we can drop them in the ocean. Basically those are the rules on the site and on the front page for new guys so everyone knows they can't be all Breitbart on the site despite what they do anywhere else. It's the equivalent of Dan saying knock that off or else like he's done in this thread a couple of times. of course out of the hundreds (thousands?) of people who use the forum, there is always someone who's all Ban Me REEEEDDDAAACCCTTEEEDDDD, and then they do something to get banned. CES
  15. Because the Christian people who support Trump only care that he is as much of a bigot as they are. The Christian people who don't support Trump recognize he is the embodiment of the seven deadly sins and want nothing to do with him. CES