Friday, 22 May 2015

Guest Author Tim Baker of Flagler Beach, Florida.

The Scribbler is pleased to have Tim Baker as a guest author this week. Tim was recently featured on the 4Q Interview. He is an accomplished author with ten books to his credit. Tim was born and raised in Warwick, Rhode Island. After graduating from The Wentworth Institute of Technology in 1980 he embarked on a career in Architecture and Engineering. Along the way he has also worked in the natural gas industry, construction and ice cream sales. In his spare time he enjoys a wide variety of activities including sports of all kinds, music, motorcycles, scuba diving, and, of course, writing.
An avid dog lover, Tim was a volunteer puppy raiser for Guiding Eyes for the Blind, raising and socializing potential guide dogs. Find out more about Tim by clicking his link below.

Following is an excerpt from one of his novels.

Eyewitness blues ch 18



Mercedez tracked the progress of the day by watching the shadows creep their way around the basement.

She fought the need to pee for as long as she could, but inevitably lost the struggle. Two hours later, thanks to the dampness of the basement, her jeans were still wet from her urine. The duct tape on her face and around her wrists combined with the cramps in her legs were an added bonus to the overall misery. Judging by the fading light that made its way through the small window, she decided she had been there for at least eight hours.

When she heard the door open and the footsteps on the floor above, she was oddly comforted, even though she knew she should be afraid. Just to be able to move her arms and legs would be a welcome feeling.

A man’s figure made its way down the stairs. When he emerged from the shadows, she recognized him. Everybody called him Spanky, but she thought his real name was George. Maybe it was his lack of hygiene, or the way his eyes seemed to be looking off in two different directions, she wasn’t sure, but there was something creepy about him.

Creepy or not, at least he wasn’t Lorenzo.

Mercedez knew the next time she saw Lorenzo he would be there to kill her. Spanky wasn’t the guy Don sent on such assignments, he was more of an errand boy. At least she had that working in her favor. Now she just needed to figure out a way to take advantage of it.

The duct tape prevented her from asking the question, but her eyes conveyed it.

“Lorenzo sent me over to check on you,” Spanky said.

As hard as it was to believe, he smelled worse than the basement, and his breath was absolutely toxic even from two feet away.

 He released her and pushed her toward the stairs. When they emerged in the kitchen he pointed toward the bathroom.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Too late,” she said, indicating her stained crotch.

He shrugged and took a container of milk from the refrigerator. After downing a few gulps he offered it to her. She wanted a drink more than anything, but the thought of sharing the milk with this repulsive man turned her stomach, not to mention the prospect of being left tied up in the basement again with no opportunity to relieve herself later.

Mercedez casually glanced at the front door…and the secured dead bolt. The windows, at least the three she could see, were all closed.

Escape was the only way she would leave this house alive, and this was probably her best, if not only, chance.

Spanky had his back to her while he checked the contents of the refrigerator. She scanned the kitchen for a weapon.


The box-cutter!

She always carried a box-cutter in her purse. Could she get to the other room and get it out fast enough?

Probably not.

Maybe she could overpower him—he wasn’t much bigger than her—then run away. She casually lifted one of the old wooden chairs at the kitchen table. It was heavy enough to put a good hurting on the slender Spanky, then she could make a run for it.

The pain and stiffness in her legs dismissed that plan. Unless she knocked him out cold, or killed him, she wouldn’t be able to run fast enough to escape.

Spanky straightened up and closed the refrigerator.

“If you don’t need the can, I guess it’s time to go back downstairs,” he said.

There was no sympathy in his voice, so appealing to his chivalry wouldn’t work. There was only one card left to play.

Mercedez reached back into the buried parts of her mind and recalled her dancer’s mentality. The ability to disconnect from the situation and ignore the reactions of men wanting a piece of her while she smiled and coaxed them into giving her money they could ill-afford to part with.

It was part of her skill set she had hoped she would never have to rely on again, but…

She flipped the mental switch and slipped her arms around Spanky’s neck.

Before he knew what was happening, she kissed him hard. She felt her stomach clench at the foul taste and fought it with everything she had. She ran her fingers through his greasy hair and grinded her pelvis into his already swollen crotch.

His hands quickly found her ass and Mercedez increased the passion in her kiss and added more pelvic pressure to his crotch. She slid her mouth to his ear and allowed her tongue to dance around it as she feigned heavy breathing.

“Anything you want,” she groaned. “Nobody has to know. You tell them I was gone when you got here.”

His hands released her ass and pushed her away.

“No way,” he said. “No friggin’ way.”

Mercedez moved back in and massaged his groin. “Come on, we can have a good time. We can make it look like I surprised you. They’ll never know.”

She knew it wouldn’t matter to Gammino if she had somehow produced an assault rifle and shot her way out of the house, Spanky would pay with his life anyway. She just prayed that he didn’t know that.

He pushed her away again.

“Stop,” he said, adjusting his crotch. “I’d love to take you around the world, but if you get away on my watch I’m as good as dead.”

“No. We can...”

“Be quiet. There ain’t no we. We ain’t doin’ nothin’. You’re going back downstairs and I’m going back to tell Lorenzo you’re still here. Done deal. Now let’s go.”

He extended his arm toward the basement door.

Mercedez went for one more stall.

“I guess I should go to the bathroom after all,” she said.

“Hurry it up.”

The windowless bathroom offered no chance of escape. She searched for some kind of weapon. With the exception of a sliver of soap on the rust-stained sink and half-a-roll of toilet paper, the bathroom was empty.

She reached for the doorknob, but stopped short. She spun around and pried the dried soap from the back of the sink. 

Obviously Spanky wasn’t leaving.

The television in the front room was on.

She started working her wrists. The soap had definitely helped prevent the duct tape from bonding to her skin completely and after several minutes she was able to slip free of the tape. She removed the tape from her ankles and finally the piece covering her mouth.

She stretched her arms and legs as she took inventory of the options.

The basement windows were too small and too high to allow her to get out through one. There was a workbench along one of the basement walls.  At one end of the bench were several old cans of paint. As quietly as she could she searched the bench for a weapon—a hammer would be ideal. The only items she found that could serve as weapons were a screwdriver and a rusty old bow-saw, the kind used for trimming tree branches, neither of which gave her any kind of tactical advantage. She would have to get too close to Spanky to use them, which would result in a skirmish that she would probably lose.

She looked at the stairs and remembered the noise they made when used and knew her chances of sneaking upstairs undetected were not promising—and even if she were successful in making it to the top of the stairs, was the basement door unlocked?

Even if she got out of the basement she would still face the problem of overpowering Spanky, unless she could slip out a back door or window undetected.

The odds were not in her favor. She needed a better plan.

Something Gammino had once said came back to her…The reason I am where I am is because I learned to turn my disadvantages into advantages.

Right now her biggest disadvantage was being trapped in the basement.

And just like that the pieces fell into place. 

Spanky flipped through the channels and stopped on an episode of Man vs. Food. The host was in New York City eating hot dogs. Just as it was getting interesting he heard a loud noise from the basement, like somebody had knocked over a bunch of cans.
“What the fuck?” he muttered.
Peering down the stairs into darkness he called out.

“Yo, what’s going on down there?”

No response.

He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. He flipped it back and forth several times with the same result. He took a zippo from his pocket and lit it. Holding it in front of him he moved down the stairs. About halfway down his foot slipped in a thick liquid.

“What the…”

He tried to maintain his balance, but his other foot slipped as well. Before he could stop himself he had tumbled to the bottom of the stairs and landed in a heap against the concrete wall. He didn’t have to try to stand to know that his ankle was twisted badly and maybe even broken.
“Jesus…” He ran his hand over his body, feeling a thick, wet, slimy substance, which, in the limited light, he assumed was his own blood.

The sudden movement to the right caught his attention and in the blink of an eye he knew he was in deep trouble. 

Mercedez watched from the shadows as Spanky slipped on the paint-covered steps and tumbled to the bottom. She sprang from her hiding place and emptied the contents of another can of paint on his face. When he was sufficiently blinded she took a third gallon and slammed it across his head repeatedly until he stopped trying to get up.
She dragged him across the floor and duct-taped him to the same column she had been tied to.

Spanky moaned several times, but offered no resistance. When the roll of tape was empty she was satisfied he would not be able to squirm out the way she had. For good measure she kicked him as hard as she could in the groin. His body went limp.
Mercedez stood over him for several seconds to make sure he was out.

Satisfied he wouldn’t be a threat, she carefully climbed the slick steps and locked the basement door behind her.

She found the keys to the van on the kitchen counter, and retrieved her purse. She locked the house behind her before driving away.

Thank you Tim for sharing part of your story. Get the novel here  Read more about Tim on his website .

Next week on the Scribbler the 4Q Interview will host Susmita Bhattacharya of Cardiff, Wales when she answers 4 questions regarding her latest novel. Susmita has been featured as a guest author on the Scribbler previously. A very talented writer.

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