Notes from the Edge May-29th-2024

Posted by Geo
05-29-2014

The weather
was nice today, cool, not too much of the heat that is waiting around the
corner. 

I have worked with Dell all week getting the links sorted out.

So, if you like
NOOK books you can get our books there now, or you can stop by writerz.net and
read previews of nearly any of the books and I will be adding more as I go. We
also loaded all the new covers for both series. A lot of work went into the new
covers. They may not yet show everywhere but they will soon.

We are both
looking at jumping back into full time writing in about a month, so before
fall. I think we have decided that although we both love other projects that
for now, we will stick to the two main ones.

I am nearing
the end of my house project here too. That will make a huge difference in how
much extra time I have as well.

There isn’t
much more news than that. I know it is usually Dell that leaves you with
stories, but I think I will do the same tonight.

I will leave
you with an excerpt from the First Zombie Plagues book….

The Zombie Plagues Book One

Created
by

A.L. Norton

The
Zombie Plagues Book One

Additional
Copyrights 2023. All rights reserved.

LEGAL

This is a
work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are
products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s
places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This
novel is Copyright © 2023 A.L. Norton and all rights to this work have been
reserved for A.L. Norton. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means,
electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the
author’s permission.

Permission
is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or
electronic print.

THE
ZOMBIE PLAGUES: BOOK ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CANDACE

~ March
1st~

Traffic
leaving the parking lot had slowed to a trickle, the lot nearly empty. Live
shows were over, the bands packed up and gone; the dancers gone. Jimmy, the
club boss, Don, the main door security, and I were at the club.

“Why are
you still here, Candy?” Jimmy asked as he came up to the bar. He was on his way
back from the parking lot. It was a quick trip across the parking lot to the
bank night deposit on the lot next door.

“I had an
idea that Harry would be by tonight. He wanted to talk to me,” I shrugged.
Harry was a Bookie, at least on the surface. Off the surface, or maybe it would
be truer to say under the surface, Harry controlled most of the
organized crime north of Syracuse. Jimmy managed the club, but the best
description for Jimmy was to say Jimmy solved problems for Harry.

“Wants to
talk you into staying here. That’s about all,” Jimmy said.

The mirrored
wall behind the bar was where I pretended to check my face. I wanted to dance.
I had suggested to Harry, through Jimmy, that maybe it was time for me to move
on if there wasn’t any hope of me dancing. “Anyway, I ended up tending bar.”

“So it’s
not dancing.” He dug one hand into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of
bills. He peeled two hundreds from the roll and pushed them into my hand,
folding his hand over my own and closing it when I protested.

“But,” I
started.

“But
nothing. We did a lot in bar sales. You and I both know it was because of you.”
He smiled, let go of my hand, and stepped back. “It was me, not Harry,” he
said.

I fixed
my eyes on him. I knew what he might be about to say, but I wanted to be sure.

He
sighed. “It was me that put the stop to your dancing. You’re too goddamn good
for dancing, Candy. And once you start?” He barked a short, derisive laugh.
“The law thing? Right out the window. What’s a cop make anyway in this town?
Maybe thirty or forty a year?” He settled onto one stool that lined the bar,
tossed his hat onto the bar top, and patted the stool next to him. He continued
talking.

“So,
thirty, maybe forty, and what’s a dancer make? I can tell you there are dancers
here who make better than one fifty a year. And that’s what I pay them. That’s
not the side stuff or tips.” He moved one large hand, fished around behind the
bar and came up with a bottle of chilled vodka from the rack that held it just
below eye level. He squinted at the label. “Cherry Surprise,” he questioned in
a voice low enough to maybe be just for himself. “This shit any good, Candy?”

“It’s not
bad,” I told him. I leaned over the bar and snagged two clean glasses when he
asked me, setting them on the bar top. He poured us both about three shots’
worth. “Jesus, Jimmy.”

He
laughed. “Which is why I don’t make drinks. It’d break me.” He sipped at his
glass, made a face, but sipped again. I took a small sip of my drink and
settled back onto the bar stool.

“So, I
said to myself, smart, beautiful, talented, and you have that something about
you that makes men look the second time. You know?” He took another small sip.
“Man sees a woman walking down the street or across a crowded dance floor,
beautiful or not he looks. That look might be short or it might be long. Depends
on the woman. Then he looks away. Does he look back? Not usually. But with you
he does. There are women men look at that second time for whatever reason, and
you’re one of them. I looked a second time, and then I really looked, for a
third time. And I’ve seen a lot. That tattoo makes men and women look again.”
His eyes fell on the tattoo that started on the back of my left hand, ran up my
arm, across my breasts, and then snaked back down over my belly and beyond. I
knew it was provocative. That was the rebellious part of me. I had no better
explanation for why I had sat, lain, through five months of weekly ink
work to get it done.

Jimmy
rubbed one huge open palm across the stubble of his cheeks. “Jesus, do I need a
shave?” He took a large drink from his glass. “It wasn’t the tattoo. It caught
my eye, but that wasn’t what made me look that third time.”

“Candy, I
took a third look because I saw a young woman that doesn’t need to have
anything to do with this world. You’re too goddamn smart, talented, for
this. So I said no. I let you dance a few times, but I didn’t want you to fall
into it. I made the decision that you should tend bar instead of dance.” He
tossed off the glass.

“I see
that,” I told him, although I didn’t completely see it. He was reading a lot
about what he thought, what he saw, into who I really was.

“Yeah? I
don’t think so, Candy. And that’s a reason right there. Candy. like a
treat. When did it become okay for anyone to call you that, because I remember
a few months back when you started hanging around. It was Candace, and pity the
dumb bastard who didn’t understand that? Now it’s Candy to any Tom, Dick or
Harry that comes along.” He saw the hurt look in my eyes, reached below the
bar, snagged the bottle and topped off his glass. I shook my head, covered the
top of my glass with my hand, and smiled. He put the bottle back and continued.

“I’m not
trying to hurt you, only keep you on track. I’m giving you the keys. You drive.
All I’m saying is set your ground rules. Make them rigid. Don’t let anyone –
me, Harry, these boys that work here, customers – Don’t let anyone cross those
lines. Candy?”

I nodded.

“Yeah?
Then why not call me on calling you Candy? I’ve done it since we sat
down. Why not start there?”

“Well, I
mean, you’re the boss, Jimmy.”

“Which is
why you start there. I don’t allow anyone to talk anyway to anyone that doesn’t
want that. Let me explain that. You got girls that work the streets. You don’t
see it so much here. It’s a small city, but it happens. I spent a few years on
the streets in Rochester, bigger place, as a kid. Happens all the time there.”
He sipped at his drink. I took a sip of my drink and raised my brows at what he
had said.

“Yeah?
Don’t believe it? It’s true. I fought my way up. I have respect because I
earned it.” He waved one hand. “Don’t let me get off track.” He smiled and took
another sip from his glass. “So, I’ve seen girls on the streets, whores. It is
what it is. Would you hear me say that to them? Maybe you would, maybe you
wouldn’t. If a woman sees herself as a whore, if that’s all it is, what it
is, then who am I to say different? Do you see? It’s a living, or it’s a life.
There is a difference. Now, back to you. You want to dance? He waved one
hand at the empty stage area and said that some girls were working on the other
side. Some of them do that for me, some do it on their own. He sighed and said
that some didn’t. “Either way, you would not see me treat them any other way
than what they want to be treated. I mean that. If you believe you are a whore
and that is what you see, then that is what you show the world, and that is how
the world sees you, treats you.” he settled his eyes on me.

I nodded.
I didn’t trust my voice. On my own, I had been down this road. What did it say
about me? That it only mattered that I made it? That money mattered more than
anything else? Would I be swayed by the money? Was I even being honest with
myself about my motivations? I really didn’t know. I knew what I told myself
daily, that I wanted to follow my father into law enforcement, but was it
whimsical like so many other things in my life that I never followed through
on?

“You are
not just a dancer. There is a part of you that is, a part of you that likes the
way a man looks at you, likes the money. But there is another part that is the
private you, the real you. You need to keep those distinctions.” He rubbed at
his eyes, tossed off the rest of his drink and rose from the bar stool. “Let me
drop you home, Candy,” he asked.

I stood,
leaving my mostly full drink sitting on the bar top. “I have my car,” I told
him.

“It’s
late. Creeps around maybe.”

“Jimmy,
every creep in my neighborhood knows I work here for you. Guys stopped
talking to me, let alone the creeps.” I laughed, but it wasn’t really all that
funny. It had scared me when I realized who Jimmy was, who Jimmy worked for. In
effect, who I worked for. Another questionable thing? Probably.

Jimmy
nodded. “Smart creeps. The southern tier’s a big place. Easy to lose yourself,
with or without a little help.” He looked at his watch and then fixed his eyes
on me once more. “So you keep your perspective, set your limits, draw your
lines,” he spoke as he shrugged into his coat, retrieved his hat from the bar
top and planted it on his head, “Don’t let anybody cross those lines. You start
next week, let’s say the eleventh?”

I nodded.

“Take the
balance of the time off. By the time the eleventh comes around, you should be
ready for a whole new world. A whole new life.” He stood looking down at me for
a second. “The big talk, I guess. For what it’s worth, I don’t say those things
often, Candy.”

I nodded.
“I believe that. And, Jimmy?”

He looked
down at me. He knew what was coming. I was going to say it because he expected
it. I knew better than to correct Jimmy V. There were a lot of woods up here.
They went on forever and they probably held a lot of lost people. I may be
slow, but I’m far from stupid.

“Please
don’t call me Candy,” I told him.

He
smiled. “Don’t be so goddamn nice about it. Don’t call me Candy,” he
rasped, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Look ’em right in the eye. Don’t
call me Candy. Put a little attitude in your look. A little I can
fuckin’ snap at any minute attitude. Let me see that.”

I put my
best street face on. The one I had used growing up on the streets in Syracuse.
I knew I can snap at any minute look. I’d used it many times. “Don’t
call me Candy,” I told him in a voice that was not my own. My street voice,
“Just don’t do it.”

“Goddamn
right, Doll,” Jimmy told me. “Goddamn right. Scared me a little there. That’s
that street wise part of you.” He took my head in both massive hands, bent and
kissed the top of my head. “I will see you on the eleventh,” he told me.

I nodded.
I let the Doll remark go.

I
followed Jimmy out the back door past Don, who nodded at me and winked. Don was
an asshole. Always hitting on us when Jimmy wasn’t around. But Jimmy was his
uncle. I was employing my best selective perception when I smiled at him. I
wondered if I would ever get used to him. Probably not, I decided, but maybe
that would be a good thing. Of course, it didn’t matter. I never saw Don again.
Or Jimmy. Or anyone else from that life.

I said
goodbye to Jimmy V, crossed the parking lot for the last time and drove myself
home. I parked my rusted out Toyota behind my Grandparent’s house, and
twenty-four hours later my world, everybody’s world, was completely
changed.

Candace ~
March 2nd

This is
not a diary. I have never kept a diary. They say, never say never, but I
doubt I will. I have never been this scared. The entire world is messed up. Is
it ending? I don’t know, but it seems like it’s ending here. Earthquakes,
explosions. I’ve seen no police, fire or emergency people all day. It’s nearly
night. I think that’s a bad sign. My Father used to own the nine millimeter.
I’ve got extra ammo too. I’m staying inside.

Candace ~
March 3rd

I lost
this yesterday; my little notebook. I left it by the window so I could see to
write, but I swear it wasn’t there when I went to get it; then I found it again
later on by the window, right where I left it. Maybe I’m losing it.

There are
no police, no firefighters, phones, electric. The real world is falling apart.
Two days and nothing that I thought I knew was still here. Do you see? The
entire world has changed.

I got my
guitar out and played it today. Played for almost three hours. I played my
stuff. I played some blues. Usually blues will bring me out  the blue, but it didn’t work. It sounded so
loud, so out of place, so I don’t know. I just stopped and put it away.

Candace ~
March 4^th

I’m going
out. I have to see if I don’t come back. Well, what good is writing this?

Candace ~
March 5^th

The
entire city has fallen apart. I spent most of yesterday trying to see how bad
this is. I finally realized it’s bad beyond my being able to fix it. It’s bad
as in there is no authority. It’s bad as in there is no Jimmy V. I hear
gunshots at night, all night. And screams. There are still tremors. If I had to
guess, I would say it’s the end of the civilized world, unless things are
better somewhere else. I have to believe that. Power, structure, it’s all gone.
I mean, it’s really all gone. This city is torn up. There are vast areas that
are ruined. Gulleys, ravines, missing streets, damaged bridges. The damage
costs have to be in the billions and that’s just here. There’s me and my little
notebook I’m writing in, and my nine millimeter. I’ve got nothing else for
company right now.

I’ve got
water, some peanuts and crackers. How long can this go on? What then?

Candace ~
March 6th

I’ve
left. I can’t stay here. There was a tremor last night, and not one of the
terrible ones, but I was sure the house would come down on me. It didn’t.
Maybe, though, that is a sign, I told myself. And scared or not, I have to go.
I have to. I can’t stay here. Maybe tomorrow.

Candace ~
March 7th

The streets
are a mess. I’ve spent too much of the last week hiding inside my apartment.
Most of my friends, and that’s a joke. I didn’t have anyone I could actually call
a friend; so I guess I would say most of my acquaintances believed
my grandparents were alive, and that I lived here with them. They weren’t. I
didn’t. I kind of let that belief grow, fostered it, I guess.

I planted
the seed by saying it was my Nana Pans’ apartment. You can see the Asian in me,
so it made sense to them she was my Nana. But I look more like I’m a Native
American than African American and Japanese. It’s just the way the blood mixed,
as my father used to say. But Native American or Asian, they could see it in my
face. And this neighborhood is predominantly Asian. Mostly older people. There
were two older Asian women that lived in the building. They probably believed
one of those women was my Nana, and I didn’t correct them.

I can’t
tell you why I did that. I guess I wanted that separation. They didn’t want to
know me well. My plan had been to dance, earn enough money for school –
Criminal Justice – and go back to Syracuse. Pretend none of this part of my
life had ever happened. Some plan. It seemed workable. I wondered over what
Jimmy V. had said to me. Did he see something in me that I didn’t, or was he
just generalizing? It doesn’t matter now; I suppose.

My
Grandmother passed away two years ago. The apartment she had lived in was just
a part of the building that she owned. Nana Pan, my mother’s mother, had rented
the rest of the building out. The man who had lived with her was not my
grandfather – he had died before I was born – but her brother who had come ten
years before from Japan. They spoke a little English. People outside of the
neighborhood often thought they were man and wife. She didn’t bother correcting
them, my mother had told me. Nana Pan thought that most Americans were
superficial and really didn’t care, so what was the use of explaining anything
to them? Maybe that’s where I got my deceptiveness from.

I had
left the house as it was. Collected rents through an agency. For all anyone
knew, I was just another tenant. Of course Jimmy V. had known. He had mentioned
it to me. But Jimmy knew everything there was to know about everyone. That was
part of his business. It probably kept him alive.

So I
stayed and waited. I believed someone would show up and tell me what to do. But
no one did. I saw a few people wander by yesterday, probably looking for other
people, but I stayed inside. I don’t know why, what all my reasons were. A lot
of fear, I think.

There
have been earthquakes. The house is damaged. I went outside today and really
looked at it. It is off the foundation and leaning. I should have gotten out of
it the other night when I knew it was bad. It’s just dumb luck it hasn’t fallen
in on me and killed me.

It
doesn’t matter now, though. I met a few others today, and I’m leaving with
them. Don’t know if I’ll stay with them. I really don’t know what to expect
from life anymore.

I’m
taking this and my gun with me. Writing this made me feel alive. I don’t know
how better to say it.

I’ll
write more here, I think. I just don’t know when or where I’ll be.

~Downtown
Watertown~

He came
awake in the darkness, but awake wasn’t precisely the term. Alive was precisely
the term. He knew alive was precisely the term, because he could remember
dying. He remembered that his heart had stopped in his chest. He had remembered
wishing that it would start again. That bright moment or two of panic, and then
he remembered beginning not to care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. And he
had drifted away.

Now he
had drifted back. But drifted was not exactly right. He had slammed back into
himself where he lay on the cold subbasement floor where he had been murdered
by a roving gang of thieves. And he knew those things were true because he
remembered them. And he knew they were true because he was dead. He was still
dead. His heart was not beating in his chest. His blood was cold and jelled in
his veins. He could feel it. Some kind of new perception.

He lay
and watched the shadows deepen in the corners of the basement ceiling for a
short time longer, and then he tried to move.

His body
did not want to move at first. It felt as though it weighed a ton, two tons,
but with a little more effort, it came away. He sat and then crawled to his
knees.

In the
corner, an enormous rat stopped on his way to somewhere to sniff at him,
decided he was probably food and came to eat him. He had actually sat for a
second while the rat first sniffed and then gnawed at one fingernail. Then he
had quickly snatched the rat up with his other hand, snapped its back in his
fist and then shoved him warm and squirming into his mouth. A few minutes
later, he stood on shaky legs and walked off into the gloom of the basement,
looking for the stairs and the way up to the streets.

I hope you enjoyed the preview. The
good news is you can get the first book in any format you choose at the link
below. It is the Smashwords links, it will provide you the complete
book in all the major formats, MOBI
(Kindle) Nook, EPUB, PDF and more.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357703

I’ll be back next week! Geo…

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