Fiction authors often kill their characters. In mysteries and crime stories, there are victims. In thrillers, good guys and bad die. In sci-fi, there’s also violence and death. So I performed an auto-survey and asked myself which characters did I want to keep alive and which ones did I reluctantly kill.

I considered both protagonists and antagonists (villains) and came up with a list. While I won’t divulge that list (too many spoilers), let me explain why it hurts, even for the villains: if authors do a decent job with characterization, their characters come alive. An author knows them far better than most real people. In novels, and in series, in particular, characters become real. Mostly humans, but in sci-fi they can be realistic ETs and in fantasy they can even be dragons. Readers can experience this reality too, and often do, but the authors who create these characters usually have a special bond with them.

The latter is clearly true for main characters. Often a novel is written in the third-person point-of-view (POV) of one character, and the author gets inside that character’s head. It’s a mindreading exercise in a sense that readers can appreciate and no movie can capture. But it’s especially true if the book is written in the first-person POV, at least for a time, as I do with my Detective Castilblanco. I am him and he is me for the duration of the novel.

But this bond often occurs with villains too. Life is often gray with mixes of good and evil. A good villain, “good” in the sense of being a well-developed character, is complex like that. While I don’t feel as strong a bond with Vladimir Kalinin, who starts his literary life as Chen and Castilblanco’s foe in The Midas Bomb but is even present in Soldiers of God, he exhibits this complexity and also allowed me to get into his mind in third-person POV.

Strong characters often lead to series, of course. Not only do readers want to read more about them, but authors also want to write more about them. Many characters who are killed are transient ones, although they should still be complex and interesting. They give up their lives so that the story can move forward. Readers (and maybe writers) are more shocked when the main character dies—maybe not so much for villains but certainly for the “good guys.” The decision to kill a character should not be taken lightly in any case.

Modern fiction often isn’t about “living happily ever after,” though. It has to seem real, and real life isn’t a fairy tale. Readers have to be prepared for this; authors have to include it in their fiction. And we can all celebrate the great characters of fiction who live on in books after the authors are long gone.

***

Comments are welcome.

Did you miss the sale? Accompanying the free novella “You Know I’m Watching” that ended last week, the first six books in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series” were successively placed on sale. #5, The Collector, and #6, Family Affairs, are still on sale until January 6–$0.99 each on Smashwords. The first four books and #7, Gaia and the Goliaths, aren’t on sale, but their retail prices are reasonable and equivalent to the sale prices of Big Five ebooks. Hours of exciting mystery and thrills await you, dear readers!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

The “Clones and Mutants Trilogy” contains Full Medical (the clones), Evil Agenda (one clone + one mutant), and No Amber Waves of Grain (both clones and mutants). Sirena, the mutant introduced in Evil Agenda, represents an extreme example of my strong, smart female characters.

From the young Shashibala Garcia (The Secret Lab) and Asako Kobayashi (The Secret of the Urns) to the mature Esther Brookstone (Rembrandt’s Angel), I celebrate what I call the secular strong-willed feminine, as opposed to Dan Brown’s religious “sacred feminine” and the more generic “divine feminine.” It’s been a long time coming, but at the end of the 20^th century and in the 21^st, women are finally getting the respect they deserve, in real life and in fiction.

I’m pleased with women assuming power in the U.S. and around the world, for example. I’ve always thought that the world would be better off with women in charge, and I still do, more so than ever before. They can more easily look beyond testosterone-driven greed and power and see that humanity should be one happy family on this planet we’ve leased for a while. Yes, they’re assuming power now, but my female characters have been doing that for some time.

Real life and fiction have both influenced these portrayals in my books. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing quite a few strong and smart women during my many years of observing human behavior. I’ve encountered many more in my reading. Both represent a lifetime of admiring the strong-willed feminine.

While I believe Deaver’s best book is Garden of Beasts, I admire his character Amelia Sachs in the Lincoln Rhyme series; she influenced my portrayal of Dao-Ming Chen (“Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series”) and Mary Jo Melendez (“Mary Jo Melendez Mysteries”). (By the way, one reviewer of the second edition of The Midas Bomb complained that all female characters in that book were bimbos, so I’d like to know what he thinks of Amelia. The reviewer didn’t see the complexity of protagonist Detective Chen or villain Lydia Karpov, so he probably wouldn’t see Amerlia’s either, but I salute him–he at least took the time to write a long review.) Heinlein’s Friday was a big influence too, especially for Sirena (if you’ve read Heinlein’s sci-fi thriller, you’ll know why). Although I’ve said that Esther Brookstone is like a 21^st century (and slightly younger) Miss Marple, my portrayal of her is influenced by many female sleuths, past and present. And, of course, all those strong and smart women I’ve encountered in my life influence my characterizations.

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Some idiot in Hoboken wasn’t satisfied recently with the placement of the Christmas tree and wreath over the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. He said it was offensive to his eyes. The NYC Council put it to a vote—of course, the only ones who voted to change things were equally crazy.

Every so often some nuts will want to dress dogs and horses when they’re out in public (somehow cats escape being their targets). And a certain famous basketball player claimed that NASA astronauts never landed on the moon, comparable to those who believe the Earth is flat (there’s a society for that).

Two comments: These people have too much time on their hands. And there are far better causes for them to spend their time on.

Such crazy events associated with crazy persons make writers’ lives difficult. First, the writer/journalists who have to report on them have to decide how to approach those stories. Should they play it straight as if this were normal behavior? (Note the use of the subjunctive—it’s not normal behavior.) Or, do they make fun of it (greatly deserved) and point out the waste of time and money spent on their craziness? (Of course, I’m crazy to spend time on it here…but what else should I write on New Year’s Day, a slow news day?)

These persons and events also present fiction writers with major problems. These people are characters in the pejorative sense, and the events are weird and crazy, to say the least. Should a fiction writer include such characters and events in their fiction?

I’ll say yes with reluctance. Especially for lighthearted comedies. But even serious stories need characters whose behaviors represent outliers in the human behavioral statistical spectrum. In fiction, extremes are often the norm. While authors often start with ordinary, boring persons as characters, these persons often end up doing extraordinary things as they react to extraordinary events. And many times the serious characters can play off the crazy ones, and the crazy ones can relieve tension.

But reality is so often so much stranger than fiction that authors have to be careful when they write about crazy weirdness. All fiction has to be believable, including fantasy (within the “rules” established in the fantasy world created by the author).

Still, let’s face it: many readers and writers use fiction as an escape from the ordinary, mundane lives they live, and maybe from other ordinary people and events. That certainly is one motivation for both my reading and writing; the satisfaction I derive from telling stories that hopefully entertain a few readers is another.

But I’ll certainly keep writing about crazy, strange people and crazy, strange events in my stories, knowing full well that the craziness and strangeness just mimics reality.

Do you feel the same way?

***

Happy New Year to All! Comments are welcome.

I don’t often write comedy, but the first part of Pasodobles in a Quantum Stringscape has a few stories that might tickle your funny bone…for example, the ghost gang and baklava stories. This collection of speculative fiction even contains a novella, “From the Mother World.” And if you want to start the New Year with a freebie, Volume Two is available as a free download—see the list of all the free PDFs on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

You Know I’m Watching

A “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” Homicide Case

Copyright 2018, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Six

Was at my desk reviewing the CSU’s report. Also thinking about old Joe’s denial of being Sharon’s stalker. Why had he admitted to shooting her but not to the stalking? Took out the sheaf of papers from the evidence box again. Studied them. There were explicit details about what would happen to Sharon. No mention of a rifle attack, though.

The CSU hadn’t found one ‘zine in Joe’s apartment. Some CDs and a few library books. The guy didn’t even have a TV. Books were all non-fiction. European histories, mostly. Could understand that. I loved history.

“There’s another perp,” I said to Chen.

She nodded. “Eric and I were discussing the case. We thought of that too. The two MOs don’t match. Joe’s actions were reactive—a knee-jerk reaction to Sharon’s ultimatum. The stalker acted over a period of time.”

“Whoever it was had nothing to do with the shooting. An infatuation. Let’s go back over the list of co-workers.”

It took us several hours, but we soon homed in on some testimonies where co-workers stated that they admired Sharon and her boss because they often worked late hours. Some others did too, but not as a habit.

“Think Marvin Dunn became infatuated with Sharon Hill?” I said to Chen.

“A possibility. Let’s assume it’s true. How do we prove it?”

“Search warrant for Dunn’s work desk and his apartment,” I said.

“That’s going to be difficult. Captain and DA already think we solved the case.”

“So you’re going to have to convince them Joe isn’t the stalker.”

Reasonable suggestion because the captain thought I was a little too creative sometimes, and he thought Chen and her husband were the cat’s meow. The DA didn’t much care for me for many reasons, and sometimes she and the captain commiserated.

The judge took some convincing too.

***

Chen and a few uniforms raided Dunn’s apartment. I took a few uniforms to raid the workplace. Both teams had two CSIs with them.

Marvin Dunn just looked at the search warrant and shrugged, made a gesture toward his office, and said, “Be my guest. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Detective.”

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You Know I’m Watching

A “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” Homicide Case

Copyright 2018, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Five

Old Joe slammed the door in our face when he saw our creds through the partially opened door. I kicked the door down.

“Fire escape!” I said over my shoulder to Chen. She took off down the stairs. I ran to the open window. Old fellow was moving fast down the fire escape’s iron stairs. Saw me, whipped out a gun, and fired. I’d already ducked back into the apartment. Looked back out when there were no more shots.

He dropped the four feet to the alley’s pavement and turned to make his escape, only to receive the knockout blows from Chen. One, two, and down.

Chen picked up the gun. I called for backup.

CSIs found the rifle tucked behind some dining table inserts in Joe’s hall closet. Too bad we didn’t have the bullet that killed Sharon Hill.

Case closed? Had a funny feeling as we headed back to the precinct to interrogate old Joe.

***

Had to wait while Joe consulted with his lawyer, a public defender we’d provided. When we finally interviewed Joe, it didn’t take long.

“I want a plea deal,” Joe said.

Looked at the lawyer. He nodded. “Cut him some slack, and he’ll confess.”

“Depends on the DA’s office,” said Chen. “He’ll still die in jail.”

Joe hung his head. “I wish New York state had the death penalty. I killed a lovely woman.”

I nodded. “Why?”

“She found a discrepancy. I was hiding some profits.” He looked at his lawyer and smiled, and then turned back to me. “Not much, mind you, but enough to make her nervous. Wanted to report me. Do you know how hard it is to make a living in this city, Detective?”

“You did well enough to have three employees, counting Sharon.”

“Rent’s high, I pay city, state, and federal taxes, and my VA benefits are no great shakes. I often wished I’d died in ‘Nam. Many buddies did.”

Nodded again. “Terrible war. So you killed Sharon to keep her from reporting you?”

“She said she could lose her license. I said no one needed to know.” He hung his head.

“What about your stalking her?” said Chen.

Joe looked up at her. “Stalking her? I never did that.”

Couldn’t get him to admit to the stalking.

“We’ll see what we can do with the DA,” said Chen to finish the session.

(This novella ends tomorrow.)

***

Comments are always appreciated.

The Collector. #5 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblaco Series,” the crime-solving duo is assigned a case concerning the murder of a SoHo art dealer. Does the case have a connection with artwork stolen from the Gardner Museum in Boston? Mr. C. learns a bit about art and that stolen artwork can be used to finance other activities, in this case human trafficking and illegal porn. As the case evolves, it becomes more complicated. Who has the paintings, if anyone? And where are they? Scotland Yard Inspector Esther Brookstone, of the Art and Antiques Division and protagonist in Rembrandt’s Angel, makes her first appearance in this novel. This ebook is on sale now at Smashwords for $0.99, but only for a week.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

My posts will resume on Thursday, December 27.

On this yuletide eve, I wish all readers of this blog happy holidays. All the best to you and yours, whatever your backgrounds in this world of diversity that I celebrate so much in my books.

If you’re traveling, bon voyage. If you’re partying, don’t drink and then get behind the wheel. And, above all, be safe and enjoy all those end-of-year celebrations.

2019 awaits us. Who knows what it will bring?

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

You Know I’m Watching

A “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” Homicide Case

Copyright 2018, Steven M. Moore

Chapter Four

Ralph didn’t make it. My knee-jerk reaction was that remorse was the cause for the OD. Chen returned from the hospital to join me again in yet another wait for the CSU to finish up at his apartment, their work more complicated now because it was a two-room place with two guys in each bedroom. They found a lot of young-guy stuff, but Ralph had been hooked for a while. Maybe even in the Academy? Thought of all the young lives ruined by OD-ing on prescription painkillers. Still a national epidemic, with unscrupulous doctors and pharmaceutical suppliers getting filthy rich. The latter’s “mea culpa and we’ll do better” full-page ads were still regular features in the Times, meaning that they were still part of the problem!

We found no guns. My knee-jerk reaction had been wrong. Not the first time.

Leaned against the wall and checked out Kerri and Joe on my phone. Kerri was a real grandmother who was trying to complement her Social Security check with work at the coffee bar. Joe had an interesting past. He’d fought in ‘Nam. Sort of matched his age. Showed his record to Chen.

“You should have checked him before,” she said. “He’d have experience with firearms.”
“A medic? Come on. Their jobs were to try to make the pain go away as our boys died over there. Battlefield hospitals weren’t great back then, and, out in the rice paddies, there weren’t any at all, just the medics. I had several uncles who were there. Bad gig.”

“Not to mention the PTSD if they returned,” said Chen.

“They didn’t call it that back then. Don’t think they even had a name for it. Anyway, I don’t think an ex-medic can be our sniper. Not a lot of firearm experience there.”

“Precisely.” I looked at her, eyebrows raised. “The sniper went for a head shot and missed.”

Nodded. Saw her point. “Could explain why ye wee coffee bar was closed. Let’s try to find old Joseph.”

***

We found Kerri first. She was pacing in front of the coffee bar. We flashed our badges.

“Thank you for coming so fast. The shop was closed when I arrived. Something must have happened to Joe. He’s always here.”

Winked at Chen. NYPD was getting a good rep here for its immediate response to calls. “I suppose you called,” I said. She nodded. “We’re here about old Joe, but not in response to your call.”

She looked confused. “So something has happened to him?”

I went through the recent events involving old Joe and Ralph.

“Sorry ‘bout Ralph. Didn’t know he had problems. One of my grandsons had a sports injury and got hooked. We worry ‘bout him. Can’t afford rehab, but he’s now in a free help group.”

“So no idea where your boss is?” said Chen, getting us back on track.

“Maybe home sick? But you said he was just here.”

“Tell us about Sharon Hill,” I said. “She was a frequent client, I take it.”

Kerri thought a moment. “Yes, nice woman. She did the books for Joe under the table.”

Looked at Chen and then back at Kerri. “You mean his taxes?”

“Joe’s not very together. Hardly kept the personal separated from the business. He’d hand her shoe boxes full of papers, and she’d make sense out of it all.”

“Did she charge him?” said Chen.

Kerri glared at Chen. “What don’t you understand ‘bout under the table? Sharon and Joe were friends. At least, as friendly as two misfits could be. Lotta misfits in this city, ma’am. I came close to bein’ homeless a few times myself.”

Nodded. “Where does Joe live?”

She told us, and we headed there.

(To be continued…)

***

Comments are always welcome.

Aristocrats and Assassins. #4 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblaco Series,” this mystery/thriller novel initially finds Castilblanco on vacation in Europe with his wife and Chen in China trying to track down a scheme to finance terrorism activities—one terrorist in particular. When European aristocrats start being kidnapped, the two detectives join forces again. The kidnappers don’t want ransoms, though. What do they want? This most international story in the series takes readers on a thrilling tour of Europe as the detectives uncover a nefarious plan to wreak revenge against those who fight terrorism.  (Interpol Agent Bastiann van Coevorden, protagonist in Rembrandt’s Angel, makes his first appearance here.) This ebook is on sale now at Smashwords for $0.99, but only for a week.

Note: There won’t be any posts on December 24, 25, and 26. Happy holidays!

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Persons I meet at book events and other social situations often ask “How do you get your ideas?” after learning I’m a full-time fiction writer. It’s a ubiquitous question that I’m sure other writers are asked. I certainly prefer that question to “Do you make any money writing?” (not much) or “I don’t have time to even read books, so how do you find time to write them?” (no comment here).

My answers to that first question vary, but there are some general themes. First, I can say that I’ve had a lifetime of experiences and observations; I’ve seen and heard a lot. In other words, I note what’s going on around me. Second, when I see people doing things, I ask myself why are they doing them. What motivates people? Why do they respond as they do? And so forth.

I’m not a good mixer at social functions, but I am an observer. If I were to mix, I couldn’t be an unbiased observer. You can learn more from seeing and listening to what’s going on around you.

Third, I’m continuously organizing all that I’ve observed in my mind to come up with story ideas. That might involve imagining those people I’ve observed in different situations and foreign settings. It can also involve putting myself in others’ places as I write in the point-of-view of a character.

Storytelling is mostly about observations mixed with imagination. There’s no mystery to it because it’s something the human brain has been doing since prehistory. The people who are addicted to doing it are now called fiction writers. The people who do it all the time are full-time writers. And those who enjoy all these stories are now called readers.

Storytelling used to be verbal, or visual, if we include cave paintings. Both media are limited because those who enjoy the stories never can get into the heads of the characters. (Some movies try to avoid this limitation of the visual by having actors speak their thoughts. Shakespeare did this in his plays with his soliloquys.) Gutenberg unwittingly changed all this. With books readers can participate more fully in the storytelling experience, knowing characters from the stories more profoundly than ever before.

So modern fiction writers must be observers of actions and reactions but they have to imagine what’s going on inside people’s heads too. In short, we have to be amateur psychologists and psychiatrists who discover the possible reasons for why people do certain things. I’ve often thought that people would be better off talking to a fiction writer rather than a mental health professional for that reason!

But, returning to that initial question, where does the creativity come in? Clancy said that fiction has to seem real. That’s where the creativity lies: Taking all those observations and guesses about why people do things and creating a new reality, an extrapolation that is both new and entertaining but still recognizable to the reader. The ability to do this is both innate and learned. Ideas for stories abound, but turning them into good literature requires some skill.

It’s often said that we should never stop learning. That’s particularly true about writing. Finding ideas for stories is only part of the craft. Learning the skills for turning these ideas into stories into stories is the rest. While people rarely ask “How did you learn these skills?” or even “How did you learn to write?”, these are important questions too. There are no simple answers for them either because what works for one writer doesn’t for another.

***

Comments are always welcome!

Goin’ the Extra Mile: “After I left the Navy, I became a security guard back east.  The company had some Top Secret Pentagon projects.  Some were designed to create super soldiers—Mechanically Enhanced Cybernetic Humans AKA MECHs—and specialized smart armor for them.” The U.S. made the MECHs, Russia stole them, and now China wants them…and will kidnap Mary Jo Melendez and her family to get them! If you have blood pressure problems, this mystery/thriller novel could be dangerous. Available on Amazon and Smashwords and all the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc). “I was captivated by the end of the first chapter and I couldn’t stop reading.”—Valerie Padrnos in her Amazon review.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

The Hellfire Club. Jake Tapper, author (Little, Brown, and Company, 2018). Political thriller? Historical fiction? You decide. A good and interesting read, but probably not as good as the sycophants’ endorsements on the back cover would have you believe, many of them well known authors.

I often watch Jake’s CNN show “The Lead”; he’s one of my favorite pundits. When he started pimping this book on his show, I became concerned. Celeb books and I don’t mix well, no matter who the celeb is. I like Jake. He has everything a first-time novelist needs: plenty of name recognition. But I digress. What about the book? Can he write fiction?

The dark novel starts out slowly if you ignore the flash-forward at the beginning that is finally revisited on p. 154. Turns out that the scene is inconsequential in the grand scheme of the plot. I get it: with his ponderous initial narrative, the author wants to establish that 1950’s D.C. was also a huge political swamp, with Joe McCarthy being the main swamp creature.

World War Two veteran Charlie is a newbie at being a congressional representative of a Manhattan district. Governor Tom Dewey wants him to replace another GOP congressman who had committed suicide under suspicious circumstances. Yes, from the second chapter on, there’s a mix of real people and fictional characters that’s very confusing unless you keep referring to the author’s sources section (helps some, but probably not enough for the average reader).

There’s too much historical narrative at the beginning and not enough time spent on important plot elements at the rushed end. Not bad for a first novel, though, and a good handful of twists in the final pages.

Dead Shrinks Don’t Talk. Sandra Gardner, author (Black Opal Books, 2018). On a lighter note, we have a mystery that’s also a comedy. I was a bit leery of this novel, a murder mystery with the sleuth’s mother as a ghost? I was pleasantly surprised, though. It a good mystery with comedic commentaries about current culture, and the tongue-in-cheek style reminds me of some of Hiaasen’s work.

Marabella Vinegar (the last name is an INS construct, ICE’s predecessor) belongs to a therapy group, and their shrink is murdered. Because Marabella discovers the body, she’s the cops’ first suspect (the inept lead detective takes the easy way out). When she discovers body #2, a member of the therapy group, she goes to jail. There are some laughable scenes where our protagonist gets to know her fellow female inmates better.

On the sleuthing side, Marabella and her mother pursue the case, doing the inept detective’s work for him. This unfolds like a modern, lighter, and happier version of tales from Dame Agatha’s oeuvre; Miss Marple is even mentioned on occasion, although the deceased mom earns that description, not Marabella (the detective is no Hercule Poirot—if anything, he’s more like Inspector Clouseau).

I only have two nitpicks about this novel. First, Marabella’s romance with a veterinarian never gets resolved. Second, the author’s denouement is lacking compared to Dame Agatha’s—the ending seems a bit too abrupt for this reader who doesn’t want the fun to end.

This is entertaining mystery and comedy writing, and it was great fun.

[Note: I interviewed this author on September 5, 2018. You can find that interview and others in the blog category “Interviews.”]

***

Comments are always welcome.

Rembrandt’s Angel. Miss Marple + Hercule Poirot = A-team! 21^st versions of Dame Agatha’s sleuths, that is. Pursuing a missing Rembrandt leads to uncovering a neo-Nazi conspiracy that threatens Europe in this mystery/thriller novel. Esther Brookstone, Scotland Yard Inspector in the Art and Antiques Division, becomes obsessed with the painting. Bastiann van Coevorden, Interpol agent and Esther’s paramour, tries to keep Esther out of trouble. Join them on a chase around Europe and South America. Available in ebook format at Amazon and Smashwords and all the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc) and in print format at Amazon or at your local bookstore (if it doesn’t have it, ask for it). “I recommend this book; it was one of the best efforts from the author.”—Debra Miller, in her Amazon review

In libris libertas!  

Holiday Dinner at the Castilblancos

Copyright 2018, Steven M. Moore

I looked at the guest list for our holiday dinner one more time. Some habitual guests, other new ones. Dao-Ming, her husband Eric, and their little one would be present—two chairs at the main table plus Pedrito’s old high chair brought up from our basement storage. Larry McAdams and his wife, both Muslims, would drive up from New Brunswick and be there. Two additional chairs. Larry and I had become close on a case. Ernst Silverstone and his wife, both Jews, would leave their neighborhood deli long enough to join us. They had a little boy, Joachim, who was Pedrito’s age—those two were close friends, and my wife Pam and I like the couple. Two chairs at the main table, another one for the kiddie table. Full house, counting  my wife and our two kids, Ceci and Pedrito.

We’d put the three bigger kids at a card table. Chen’s kid would be in the high chair or snoozing in his car seat. That meant eight around the dining table. It also meant no ham because of the Jews and Muslims. No problema. I can have ham any time during the year. (My Buddhist guru says I should become a vegetarian. No chance.)

Larry and Ernst, who were both excellent cooks, would take over preparation of the side dishes, mostly organizing them because people were contributing, while Pam and Chen would be watching the bird. Had just had turkey at Thanksgiving a month ago, but that had been with Teresa and her family and others from the Castilblanco clan—Pam’s turkey was always a bit different with her secret butter and spices rub.

I regretted not having Ashley Scott on the guest list; she was in Chicago. I’d intended to pair her up with my Buddhist guru from Brooklyn, but he was somewhere upstate meditating. Thought of a lotus position on a cold stone floor and shivered.

My job was to keep the law enforcement types from discussing cases and Pam from talking about TV news and its increasingly acerbic battle with certain politicos who wanted to curtail freedom of speech and freedom of the press, although all who would be present, even Chen, supported those two freedoms. Didn’t want to get into the increase in hate crimes or the legalization of marijuana either. Maybe city politics represented a safer topic—fixing the subways and getting those new rail tunnels finished under the Hudson, for example. And how to raise kids in the Big Apple.

Was sitting at the counter that divided our living room from our galley kitchen. Kids were running and jumping around like wild gazelles on uppers. Was tempted to spike my morning coffee to calm my frazzled nerves.

I was in my PJs. Pam was in the shower. She’d already put the bird in the oven. Could hear her singing the “Habanera” from Carmen. Maybe happy to have a bit of she-time away from the kids?

In spite of the din, heard the knock on the door. Went to it but didn’t look through the peephole. Ever since the case of the woman murdered by a shot through the peephole was in the news, I had everyone in the family be careful with that. Came natural for me when I was undercover, of course.

“Who is it?” Put my ear against the door.

“Delivery. I need a signature.”

“Yeah, right. Step back against the corridor wall and show me the package.”

Heard his shuffle. Now I looked through the peephole. Plain brown package. Scruffy delivery man needing a shave and uniform.

“It’s for Detective Rolando Castilblanco.”

“Pass what you need signed under the door.”

You’re thinking I’m paranoid. Three reasons for it: The so-called delivery man had called me Detective; he had also used my full name, Rolando, reading it off the label—not even my relatives used that; both set off alarms. And it was seven a.m. on the day before Christmas eve—who makes deliveries at that hour? Why does anyone even know we’re home?

Looked at the shipping label. Yep. Detective Rolando Castilblanco. Signed and shoved it back under. “Leave the package in front of the door and go.”

Put my ear against the door again. Heard his steps on the staircase. Opened the door and retrieved the package. Something loose inside. Maybe sound of metal on glass?

Ran to the window, flung it open, and tossed the package onto the sidewalk. It broke open and revealed the broken bottle that had been inside and a chrome jigger. Amber liquid started puddling.

My smart phone buzzed just then. Text message from the ex-National Security czar who’d been my captain when I was in the Navy: Happy holidays! For the many times on the carrier when we commiserated. And since.

I’d sent an invitation to him. He couldn’t make it. Guess he’d sent me whiskey instead as an apology. Probably expensive whiskey! Well aged and expensive Irish whiskey.

Pam came out of the bathroom, toweling her shampooed tresses. “Any reason why the window’s open?”

“Just thought it was getting a little hot in here. From the turkey, you know.”

“You’d better close it, or the turkey will be the only one not getting pneumonia.”

Looked out the window before I closed it. A street mongrel was lapping up the whiskey. Maybe he had some Irish terrier in him. Sighed.

***

Comments are welcome!

Have you missed the sales? Each week a “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” is on sale at Smashwords for $0.99. Right now it’s Teeter Totter between Lust and Murder‘s turn. Starting this Friday, it’s Aristocrats and Assassins. Happy holidays from Chen, Castilblanco, and yours truly.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!