Bad Luck Officer Suziy Ivy Hits the Streets #NonFiction #MysterySuspense

Bad Luck Officer

by Suzie Ivy (known as Princess Cop to her grandchildren)

Against all odds, at age forty-five, Suzie Ivy graduated from the police academy. Now, her life as the first female officer in Small Town, Arizona begins. From pink handcuffs to a shotgun named The Rock (Rock Hudson), life in Small Town will never be the same. Bad Luck Officer takes you for a joy ride as Suzie works her first two “cop” years on the streets. Bulls, bad guys and humor will get her through the career of her dreams and prove, dreams really do come true.

This is the true-life adventure of a woman faced with a midlife crisis and empty nest syndrome. There are no tears in baseball but there are hidden tears in law enforcement when Suzie Ivy is on the case. Her expandable baton is bigger than your bat.

If you feel like getting fired, please do as Mr. Sean Smith #comedy #satire

Working for Heat

 by Donovan Sotam


Sean is trying to get a raise with Mike's help.

‘So, what we need to do Mike, is: climb up that tree, reach the second floor, cut the window with the diamond tip pen and move from there.’ said a very confident Sean.
‘Why can’t we just enter through the front door?’ We both know the access code.’ In fact every other person in a mile radius of that building knew the access code. It was the famous 1234 code that comes with that lock.
‘Well, where would be all the fun in breaking in, if we were just to enter in. No, no! We must do this properly.’
‘Ahh, yes, where would all the fun be in trying to avoid physical damage, from let’s say…’ a small pause while he observed his surroundings ‘falling down from the tree?’
‘Ohh, shut up, Mike, you’re taller than me, you could probably reach the second floor without the tree.’
‘Very funny Sean. Tall people’s jokes! Haha.’ replied a bit angry and even more sleepy Mike.
Eventually they decided to just go through the front door, since the window that was cut led to a storage room that was closed from the outside. They made their way into their boss’ office in a very cinematographic way, jumping, diving into the cover of a desk, running and sneaking, all to avoid, what apparently was not missing the chance to use the cheap ninja costumes to the fullest.
They were now in the waiting room and Mike picked up the National Geographic and started whistling the National Geographic theme.
Yeah, I read it this morning’ said Sean. ‘There’s an interesting article on Atlantis.’
‘Where did they find it, this time?’
Sean didn’t answer for he had managed to pick the lock of Mr. Anderson’s office.

Funny Kindle Books: "Wastes of Space" by Darcy Town

A trio of feline-alien Hunters are interrogating suspects as they search for the main characters: Rake and Ravil...

Lincoln ordered Kennedy to wait in the kitchen.  The teenaged Hunter sat on the counter and rifled through boxes of rainbow-colored cereal.  He stuffed handfuls of it into his mouth and trembled from a sugar high.

Marx wandered into the kitchen, leading a young girl by the hand.  He stared at Kennedy.  “Why are you eating that?”

“I like!  This sugar tastes sweet!”  Kennedy licked his gloves and eyed the child with Marx.  “Why are you holding a cub?”

Marx looked down as if he just noticed the child.  “Lincoln asked me to.”

Kennedy dropped into a crouch on the countertop.  “May I chase it?”  He looked up at Marx and purred.  “I will not kill.  I just want to play, bat around.”

Marx frowned.  “He did not tell me to release it to you.”

Kennedy twitched and bounced on his fingertips.  He leapt.  Marx slashed him across the face.  Kennedy landed on his feet and knocked boxes of cereal over.  His yellow eyes darted to the Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms.  He pounced on the colored pieces.  Cereal crunched under his hands.  He grinned and smashed it all, enjoying the sensation.  He licked the sugary dust off the floor. 

"Gnome On The Range" by Jennifer Zane

"I’m going back to the garage sale where I bought the gnomes.”

“No way. It might be dangerous.”

“A dangerous garage sale?”

A muscle in his neck grew taut as he most likely grinded his teeth. “You have no idea why that vial was in the gnome or what kind of people we’re dealing with."

"Empire: How to Succeed with Nothing but Passion, Great Ideas and a Wealthy Family" by Brendan Jack

An atomic bomb seemed to go off in my father’s head, though his face was expressionless. He accused me of collecting after the Crab-ren (crab siren) had sounded.

I had spent a few extra seconds securing my final catch after the horn, but it was already netted – and it still put me ahead of his haul by one tasty meal. Another silent head explosion was followed by his unbucketing of crabs onto our kitchen floor, sending them scuttling towards the sliding doors. “Count them again!” he bellowed like the commander of a warship, before realizing that he’d destroyed any chance of an accurate recount.

Mother attempted to soothe him, but he paced across the sundeck and down to the beach. At the sea’s edge he began dunking his head under the water to muffle the screaming. The rise and fall of the waves made it difficult to hide the angry carbon dioxide bursting from his lungs. I’m no psychologist, but this was probably less about crabs, and more about Grandpa Bertrand dying and leaving him the responsibility of the family empire.

Grampy’s death really ruined our holiday.

"Thrift Store Bounty Hunters" by Michael Lamendola

My heart is beating cracks through my ribcage as I sink into the lightly stained velour backseat of the LTD. The pair of guns tucked into my pants make for an uncomfortable ride, so I toss them on the floorboard. Leaning back again, I reach over and roll the window down. In front Peter sits quietly as Sal drives with one hand on the wheel and one arm leaning out the window.

With eyes closed, I decide to be the one to point out the unconscious elephant piled in the trunk. “What are we going to do with him? He ain't dead you know.”

“I figured,” Sal says. “What did you do to him?”

“Beat him over the head with one of those big golden trash can things, kicked him a few times, and smacked him upside the head with his gun.”

“Turn about's fair play.”

“That's exactly what I said.”

“When did he throw up on himself?” Peter asks.

“Oh,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “That was me.”

Peter is silent for a moment. “Really?”

“Considering I don't usually run a half marathon after a full marathon of drinking, I'd say my body reacted in a perfectly natural way.

"Panoptica" by Patrick Hudson

Amidst the revellers lining The Mall stood Titus Spring, as grey and unmoving as a blown pixel on a busy screen. All around him rainbow scarves and ruffles twitched in the breeze, holofabric gowns and suits glittered against scintillating self-generating backgrounds, and shimmering clouds of floating nano-pigments puffed and settled, puffed and settled in a seemingly endless sequence of ever more complex patterns. Nearby, children shrilled past in blurs of swirling colour and light, and the air around him was thick with flashing logos, tags and mini-screens and the roar of a great party in full swing. Titus Spring, by contrast, stood resolutely straight and still and silent in a drab smock of dumb, unbleached linen, tan leggings, a functional hat, and a cape that might have been interpreted as a very low-key attempt at flair had the stiff dun-coloured waxed cotton given any quarter whatsoever to either fashion or style. He was an absence, a blot, a colour sink that leeched brightness from the world around him by sheer force of his sartorial disdain.

From "The Savior of Turk" by Ron D Smith

American-born Danny had just met his Delhi-born cousin Bhanu at the Kansas City airport. Bhanu and his parents had come to America to help Danny's family run a smalltown motel...

I took the bag that Bhanu had been dragging across the floor. “You can call me Danny. I don’t know what they were feeding you in India, but maybe a shorty like me can get some.”

Bhanu looked at me dead-serious. “I would be happy to share my diet with you,” he said.  “My name is Bhanu. Danny is not your real name.”

“ Yeah, but that’s what everyone calls me. If you keep your name, people will just butcher it. What’s with the accent anyway? You sound like a butler.”

“I received a formal English education,” Bhanu said, as if the answer was obvious. “I thought your name was Devak.”

“Like I said, just call me Danny.”

“I like ‘Devak’ better. It means ‘divine’,” he said. “I don’t know what ‘Danny’ means, but ‘Devak’ is a good name.”

It didn’t take a charter member of Mensa to know this guy would fail to impress the low society folks of Wapatamwa.  He would find himself the center of attention of guys with no greater desire than to beat the fecal matter out of a spindly-armed, brown-skinned boy who talked like he had a silver spoon stuck up his butt.

From "The Famous Union" by Michael Meyer

On September 1, 2012, two recent PhDs entered employment with the English department of Famous Union College, one a young Greek, the second a younger hybrid. But unfortunately for the latter—the hybrid—who had been hired to coordinate the department’s freshman composition program, a two-semester sequence, the entire program, as the result of an executive decision in late August, was abolished forever at Famous Union three weeks before the new coordinator showed his face in town for the second time, the first having been for his job interview two and a half months earlier. The decision was a landmark one, Famous Union having been the first and only institution of higher learning in the entire country to disband the writing program that was a strict requirement everywhere else under the American flag, and always had been.

From "The Little Book of Bitchy Thoughts" by Elizabeth Fairlight

Quotes from the Book:

'If your child says, “Hey, lady,” to get the attention of a sales
clerk, you're lower-class. If your child says, “Excuse me, Ma'am,”
then you're middle-class, or higher. This is an infallible indicator.'

'Washington, D.C. is the third-world capital of a first-world country.'

'Opera is only vaudeville with attitude.'

'I'm always amazed by admonitions to love thy neighbor. Once God wises
up to the fact that not everything on this Earth is worth loving, he
would become a smarter God. It would be better to say, 'love thy
neighbor, if thy neighbor is worthy of it.'

From "Expected" by Sarah England

Samantha Sweet is supposed to be getting married to a man she has slowly realised is a psychopathic game player...

He knows it's over. I know it's over.

 

So fathom this one if you can. I wake up to hear Neil Diamond singing 'Love on the Rocks.' An all time favourite song now tainted forever. Later, in the shower, there come the distant strains of Annie Lennox singing, 'Why.......? Why......?' Another favourite. Spoiled. You would think, would you not, that Simon is pining the loss of his one true love? 

 

         For the last few days the flat has been a war zone. He grabs at me from dark corners, bangs on the spare room door just as I'm dropping off to sleep - demanding to 'talk'. He hisses insults, sniping nasty names at every opportunity. Tonight 'The War of the Roses' is on TV - and there he sits staring at me with watery eyes and a devastated, dropped-open mouth as if he's just been stabbed through the soul.

 

          He knows I'm going. I know I'm going.

 

          He doesn't know when.

 

          I do.

 

          "I won't let you go, you know that, don't you?" he says.

 

          The film is brilliant and extremely funny. Kathleen Turner is a scream and it's annoying that he's talking through it. Every laugh he winces. "You really are a heartless bitch, aren't you?"

 

          "Guess so."

From "Bad Luck Cadet" by Suzie Ivy

It was a lark, a midlife course correction, the first day of the police academy was hell.

We were told we had one minute to get a drink of water and were sent to the fountain by squads. No one did more than wet their lips.

I was just getting my heart rate under control when the back door at the top corner of the room flew open. A metal garbage can was kicked down the classroom stairs and our class Sergeant stormed in. I thought the other guy was the sergeant but soon discovered my error. The new sergeant made the other look like a pansy.

“On your feet, I’m Sergeant Dickens and you will stand when I enter a room. You will address me as sir.” He had our attention. “Don’t eyeball me; you will look through me and not at me. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” It came out weak. I wondered what the hell he meant. Through me, not at me? I guessed I would be learning.

“What did you say? Is everybody here capable of saying yes sir? Or maybe you don’t understand. Do you understand?”

“YES SIR,” louder this time.

From "The Survival of Marvin Baines" by Michael Meyer

Marvin Baines felt happy. He was smiling. And he walked fast.He always walked fast when he was happy. He couldn’t help it. Ever since he was a little kid. He swung his arms back and forth and whistled. He whistled “You Are My Sunshine.” He liked the song. Then he quickly switched to “Don’t Fence Me In.” Something he believed in fully.

Marvin Baines walked right across the cement patio and stopped onto the grass.

“Watch it, buddy!”

Baines turned to see who was talking to him. No one was in sight.

“Careful now.”

Baines looked again. Still there was no one around him.

From "Impossible Possibilities" by James G. Bruen Jr.

“Compensation?” snorted Wayne. “We don’t want compensation. We want our land. We want it to live on, to raise families on, to farm, and to enjoy, not to sell or to develop.”

“When the government wants your property, there’s not much you can do,” she noted. “You can’t fight city hall.”

“But my uncle’s bribed the selectmen,” protested Conlon.

“Can you prove that?” responded the lawyer. “It’s just your word, and, after your ‘Money grows on trees’ performance, most people think you’re loony. If the selectmen vote again within two weeks to condemn the property, eminent domain will proceed.”

As the four men left the lawyer’s home, Adam Wayne turned to the others. “I’ll plan the attack,” he said quietly.

The evening of the final vote began unremarkably. Large lazy clouds turned yellows and browns as the sun set; they drifted slowly from the south. Among them, though, one grew larger and larger as it neared town, but no one there noticed its approach. Pie-shaped and golden brown on top, but metallic silver on the bottom, it glided silently towards the town hall. Jackson leapt from its gondola, and, landing lightly on the building’s roof, tethered the balloon.

 

From "Train Wreck: A Novel" by Bennett Gavrish

Jamal rose from his seat as if he was about to address a congregation. “I ain’t scared of no Harry Potter. I finished all of them stupid books. All I can say is this: that’s some wicked unrealistic crap.”

“Imagine that,” Nick said sarcastically, “a book about magic being unrealistic.”

“I like the books,” squeaked Samuel. He was gripping the tome tightly, fearing the angry black man might rip it out of his hands and destroy it with one of his evil swearing spells.

“You hear that, Grams?” Jamal shouted. “He likes the books! Next thing you know he’s gonna be asking for a freakin’ broomstick and a magic cloak for Christmas.”

Bradley got giddy. “Oh man, how cool would it be to have an invisibility cloak?”

By this time, Matthew had slid over to the other side of the bench and joined the conversation. “If I could be invisible, I would sneak up behind people I didn’t know and give them invisible hugs.”

“Matthew,” Bradley said, “that’s called sexual assault. And it’s a felony.”

Jamal seized control of the discussion again. “Oh please. An invisible cloak would be the worst thing to give a kid. He’d put it down to go take a piss, come back and never be able to find it again.”

From "The Armpit of Evil" by Joe Mirabello

The door's expression drooped. “Giveth me the 'Secret Words' and leave me to my sorrow.”

“The secret words are 'Open, Dammit',” Sinistario said.

The door sucked in its breath and clucked its tongue at Sinistario with disapproval.

“Thou has not spoken correctly,” the door informed them. “For thine own security, all secret words must include at least one number.”

“Oh, please. 'Open, Dammit 01'. Happy now?”

“Nay.” The door sniffled, a sniffle brimming with tears of families torn asunder and the yelps of infant animals sacrificed to the nameless evil depths of the world. But within the door's deep voice, there was also the sound of stones grinding and gears working inside the Citadel. A sharp 'click' sounded and the door swung open. A black hall waited beyond.

“You first.” Victorious nodded at Sinistario. “Don't try anything clever,” he muttered, turning his attention to the door. “Stay open, door. I don't want to end up trapped in this Hellhole.”

“Thine mother is a Hellhole,” the door called after him.

From "Better Off Without Him" by Dee Ernst

You would think that there is nothing in the world more embarrassing, not to mention humbling, than taking dating advice from your teen-aged daughters.
Well, there is.

Try taking fashion advice from your teen-aged daughters.

Jessica struck at the kitchen table.  “What are you wearing?” she said around a mouthful the chocolate Pop Tart that was her breakfast.

I was peeling an avocado.  For my lunch.  It was, after all, past noon, but the girls and I are on a very separate dining schedules during the summer.  “What am I wearing when?”

“Tonight.  With Mr. Keegan.  He’s a very young-thinking guy.  All his other dates have been twenty-something, so he’s used to fashion-forward women.”

“Are you suggesting I’m not fashion-forward?”

She looked at me with skepticism.  To be fair, I was wearing khaki walking shorts with very frayed cuffs and a navy T-shirt that said “Republicans for Voldemort”.

From "Her Royal Thighness and the Mannequins of Doom" by Lulu Dean

Florine Willoughby sat in my kitchen with one hand wrapped around what looked like a dead ferret and the other clutching an application for the Little Miss Regal Mail In Beauty Pageant.

“Let’s go over everything again,” I said. “Want me to start?”

“No, I can,” she said, fighting back tears. “I’m so lucky to have you as a friend, Lu.”

I agreed, of course, but didn’t say anything. When she’d arrived earlier, I’d been right in the middle of my second piece of red velvet cake. I was having what my husband calls a “crazy vacation,” which generally involves roiling waves of emotional instability, some ugly-face crying and a blatant disregard for anything at all having to do with Jenny Craig.

Or Weight Watchers.

I was up to my cankles in low self-esteem, but I knew Florine was in worse shape when she appeared on our doorstep in a flannel bathrobe, Dallas Cowboys jersey and paisley leggings.

“Where are your shoes?” I’d asked.

“One’s back home in our driveway,” she’d told me. “And I threw the other one at some moron on the interstate. He kept getting in my way as I tried to pass on the shoulder.”

Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction)" by Suzanne Tyrpak

What’s worse than dating strangers when you’re fifty? The prospect of spending the next fifty years celibate. My friend, Sam, tells me to take care of myself, but let’s face it, there’s not much mystery in romance with a vibrator.
I say to Sam, “My dating problems would be solved if you’d go to bed with me.”

He says, “Sex puts a hex on everything.”

“Sam-mule!”

He won’t budge. Drives me crazy. Sam is not my boyfriend. We have non-dates: eat, watch movies, exchange books, but S-E-X is out. After his divorce, Sam donated his bed to the Salvation Army. Every night he rolls out a sleeping bag in the middle of his living room, and his bedroom is now his office.

That’s why I’m on the internet again seeking Mr. Right. I’ve filled out questionnaires that delve into my psyche, hoping to hook my soul up with its mate. I’ve been fine tuning my profile, testing-driving my photographs. It’s paying off. I’m attracting a higher caliber of applicants—men seeking a relationship, instead of losers looking to get laid.

Of course, getting laid is my main motivation, but I want the whole package, the real deal, “the one.”

From "SAHM I am" by Maryann Miller

When SAHM, a Sensor Activated Home Manager, is field tested at the O’Neal home, he’s up against the biggest challenge a computer has ever faced; one Shanna O’Neal:

Shanna stood in the open door to the garage with her arms crossed, looking at her husband’s answer to the chaos and confusion that went with the running of their household. Nick lacked the ability to see simple solutions to problems. Even changing a light bulb could evolve into a major scientific undertaking if she didn’t do it herself. So why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut a couple of months ago? She’d asked for some help with Tommy and all the work that went into keeping the house, having in mind a maid, perhaps. Not some contraption called SAHM.

Actually, it wasn’t a contraption, and if she ever called it that out loud, Nick would go into cardiac arrest. SAHM, a Sensor Activated Household Manager, was a home computer. It wasn’t at all like her cute little Apple that was her link to the Internet and E-Mail and fit nicely on the antique desk in the den. This was a huge box, roughly the size of a refrigerator that filled one corner of the garage.