Bank Error In Your Favor.

Saturday morning, KC was balancing the checkbook and paying bills when she let out an "OH MY GOODNESS!!!"

It wasn't a pissed off frustrated "O My G!" which told me there was money left.

"Someone wire transferred $50,000 into your savings account!!!"

Crap, she found out.  I thought Saul my lawyer would be less obvious about the deposit into a shared account.    You see, I started making Meth with this guy named Jesse because I have terminal lung cancer and I wanted to make sure my family was supported  after I died.

No wait, that's Walt from Breaking Bad.  Which I'm excited starts Season 4 next month.


Or maybe I created an algorithm that compounds the interest that uses all these extra decimal places that just get rounded off. So I simplified the whole thing, I rounded them all down, drop the remainder into my savings account.  I just happened to put a decimal in the wrong place. 


No wait, that's Office Space. Wrong Bolton.


But yes.  Some Nigerian Prince benefactor finally came through on a promise and deposited the money he's been promising me since I first got email back in 1995.  Honest to goodness $50,000 was in my bank account.

We called the bank and they couldn't help us because the wire transfer department wasn't open on Saturday.  We'd have to wait until Monday.  That's cool.  Now I can go out and apply for loans based on the amount of money in my savings account.

I started to pretend spending the money in my mind.

Pay off the bills.  Pay off the van.  Fix the van. Put grass in the front and back yards.  Fix the fence and fix up the house.  Even in my imagination, I was still being practical.  Because I knew this wasn't going to be ours to keep.

I called the bank on Monday morning, talked to the wire transfer department and it turns out it's not ours to keep.

Darnnit!!


The reason for the mistake was someone keyed in the wrong account number.  Mistakes happen, so I understand.  What bothers me is there was someone that did not notice $50,000 was not transferred to their account on Thursday.

So they took it out and I was not a pretend thousandaire any longer.

Not that I expect my readers to break the law, but what would you have pretend spent the money on while it waited in your account to be removed?

Have a great day my friends.





3 comments:

The Protest.

This is part 3 of the T-Ball Saga. While each part is self contained. The check out the previous two posts for the lead-ins.

Ladybug's team is in the city playoffs.  While this is a super accomplishment, it's by no means as prestigious as scoring four touchdowns in one game at a city championship game for Polk High School.  So for parents and coaches to get upset at callings on a field when it involves a team of 4 and 5 years old is retarded.


Let me 'splain..

Our team won district last Saturday and we played the first round of city on Monday.  We won.  Round  2 was on Wednesday evening.  The team we played was awesome.  Honestly the best team we've played so far and they made us look like we Forrest Gumped our way to the finals.  

They could have beaten The Astros.

We were in a position we've not been in before.  Losing.  Our coach notices the little stuff the other team's coaches are doing that are considered infractions. The ump waves him off.  We later get called for an out when one of our players takes off their helmet outside the dugout.  This along with other what seemed like one-sided calls mostly against us, started to piss off our coach.

It's the top of the fourth and we're up to bat.  I'm trying to get one of those aforementioned players out of the dugout so she can bat.  On the way to the plate, I see our coach, the umps, all the other team's coaches and some dude.

The dude turns out to be the commissioner of the league.

I'm trying to motivate my batter, when the head ump yells, "That's the ball game!!"

WTH?!?

Then I hear from the umps yelling and  pointing at one of our parents, "No sir, YOU called the game."

Then the obligatory ump burn of "how much are they paying you."

I'm stinkin' confused, so I get the kids and line them up on the baseline so we can close out the game.  I'm glad I'm wearing sunglasses because I want to cry.  As far as I know, one of the parents on my team were talking crap and the ump had enough.  I told each and every one of the kids they did an amazing jobs and that I was proud of how they played.

While closing out in prayer, I shook my head and was thinking this is just a T-Ball game.  There's no bragging rights, no one is getting a contract.  It's supposed to be for the kids.

We get out the dug out and I look for KC.  I see she is at the OTHER team's dug out.  I could see she wasn't getting all west side on them and came back over to where I was.

I learn from KC that while I was helping the player, our coach called the game.  

Basically he quit.

KC went over there to apologize for our actions (the yelling, the arguing, the quitting).  While the parents were waiting for the coach to get back (he was off discussing the issues of the game with the other coach, ump, and commissioner), KC makes an announcement to the parents saying she did not like the way the game ended.  She teaches our kids to finish things, and quitting when things don't go your way isn't an option.  She said she went to apologize to the other team and she was going to let the coach have it.

Coach comes over and starts to talk, but KC wants to talk first.  She does and tells the coach what she told the parents.

The coach was very cool in letting her speak without talking down to her.   He told us that he wanted to protest the game, and he said the ump told him  that if he wants to protest, he needs to quit the game.  So that's what the coach did.

That night, after doing some research, KC found out that the coach didn't have to quit.  He could still play the game under protest, but it has to be recorded.  The game could have continued and the kids wouldn't have been cheated out of finishing.

The protest would determine who plays for first place.  If the protest comes back in our favor, we play for first place on Friday.  It it comes back in favor of the other team, we play for third place on Friday.

Well, we lost the protest.

I expected as much.

So we're playing for third place.  Even if we lose, we're fourth place IN THE CITY!

Number 4 of 40  T Ball teams.  How can you be pissed off about that?

3 comments:

Play to Play.

This is Part 2. Read Part 1 Here.

Ladybug has had a great time playing T-Ball this season with her CYO team.  Her team has done a great job as well.  Early on she proved herself to be one of the top players on the team.  I would sit in the bleachers during practice and other parents would ask how long she has been playing and I'd let them know this was her second year.

They'd comment on how good she can throw and how fast she was and I'd humbly say thanks and make a joke to deflect the attention.

The thing is, she is really good.  But she still has a lot to learn.  She hesitates under pressure when there are multiple options for where an out can be made.  Most of the time the player ends up safe in those situations.  

But the thing is, I don't get on her case about missing a play or not getting the out.  I don't tell her she wasn't fast enough or tell her she needs to pay attention.  I let her know she's fast, but there will always be someone faster and that's okay.  When it's all over, I tell her she did an excellent job and let her know how to handle the situation next time.  If she happens to get two strikes, I get her attention and let her know it's okay.  

At the end of the regular season she hit five home runs.

She wears it like a badge of honor.  She's proud of her home runs.  I am too.  But we've told her, we don't expect her to hit a home run every time she's up and my pride and enjoyment of watching her play is not measured by the amount of time she clears the bases.

That being said, not all parents are like us when it comes to their kid's sporting events.

There are a lot of parents who are living vicariously through their little ones.  Especially in T-Ball you can tell which kids are out there because their parents want them to be there.  There's also the parents of the ones that want to play who are also there to win the championship.

Of  T-Ball.

Yes, the t-ball championship.


I got off topic again.  I will continue the T-Ball Saga Next Time.

3 comments:

Little League Politics.

I really enjoyed playing baseball back when I was a kid. I played all positions except catcher.  I was a pitcher for a while, but in the middle of the season, a rule was passed an 11 year old can't pitch to an 8 year old (the "minor" league team I was on consisted of 8-11 year olds).

What happened was parents of the 8 year old kids were complaining because this tall lanky pre-pubescent beast of a boy was "too intimidating".   So my pitching career was put to a stop.  It was my first experience with little league politics.  I felt it again when we moved to San Antonio and I was the new guy on the team.  I was benched for the betterment of two seasons.  I'm not saying I was an awesome ball player and deserved every inning of playing time,  it just became obvious I wasn't liked by the coach.  Turns out my parents weren't part of the "Good Ol' Boy Network".  Which was the reason for lack of playing time.  Another example of Little League politics.

If you have never  played Little League or your kids haven't been through it yet, there's one thing you have to know.  There can be adults in every league that take the game too seriously.

Now there is nothing wrong with wanting your kid to be part of an organization that stresses integrity in the rules. But when parents and coaches get angry and upset over calls and constantly argue and yell at opposing team's fans, coaches and the ump over decisions on the field, it hinders the game play.

Back to Houston.  There was a T-Ball game going on.  One of my brothers were part of it, I'm not sure which one.  The team was in the league playoffs and the ump was enforcing all the rules (unlike casual Saturday morning games where minor variances might be overlooked).  Obviously, when you're in the stands of the team that's currently losing, you're not going to like any call that goes against your team.  

So there was a call some parent on the trailing behind team did not like, They made their remarks known out loud.  Well some people in the other bleachers didn't take too kindly to those words and had words back at them.  There was a back and forth until both bleachers were cleared and there was a brawl in the middle of this T-Ball game.

A brawl.  An actual fight.  It's not like one side were the white folk and one side was the black folk and we're living in 1965.  This was 1986.

Some lady even got her arm broken during the battle.

And they don't even serve alcohol at these events.

So it's crap like everything I mentioned (and more that I didn't), that I just don't like being involved with  Little League.  I'll enroll my kid if they want to play, but I refuse to make it about myself, a network, or it's win or we riot.

I realized I deviated from my original plan and it'll go on for far too long.  So I'm breaking it down into two parts for those of us who have A.D.D.

0 comments:

Ewwwwwwwww!

I saw this while shopping for diapers on Amazon....


If I knew there was a market for these things, KC and I would be Scrooge McDuck Rich!!!!

1 comments:

Playoffs.

I usually can't commit to any sports team for an entire season.  That is except for Ladybug's team.  Saturday they had a playoff game and they won.

Ladybug hit her sixth home run of the season and her team are the district champions.


The players got individual medals and the team got a trophy to display at the church for the parish we play with.  

With Saturday's win, it means they play again for another title (Division I think).  And if they win that game they play again on Friday for the city championship.



2 comments:

Comments.

I'm not sure if I've been having problems with my comments because I'm not getting any through disqus.  So I took off the widget in hopes to see if it's disqus itself or my readers disdain for my blog.

I've apparently lost all comments on all my posts.  Although this may be due to me changing to the www.jugglingeric.com domain name.  I've just been too busy to research.

Either way you can leave posts via blogger until I figure out what the issue is.

Be sure to comment on my current giveaways if you feel like commenting.  If not, some family member is going to be real happy with me...

Lands' End Polo Shirt Giveaway
WWE Action Figure Giveaway
Outback Steakhouse $45.00 Giveaway


1 comments:

Dining With Children.

With the numerous activities in Boltonshire, it's a rare event all of us get to gather around the table and have a meal together.  Also with the numerous residents in Boltonshire, it's a rare event all of us get to FIT around the table and have a meal together.

We used to have the extension on the table, but it just took up too much dang room in the kitchen.

Plus it became one of the many horizontal surfaces that collected unopened mail, graded homework and coupon circulars. 


Dinner time with the Boltons is usually in stages.  When school is in session, we usually have dinner ready between five and five-thirty.  This is when the kids eat.  KC might be taking care of D and I am getting ready for the next stage of the evening, bath time.   MaddSkillz would get home after this usually and eat his share.  KC will probably eat after the babies are down and I eat after I log in to work at night.

This is pretty much everyday.

We actually all squeezed down for dinner about two weeks ago, and none of us could remember the last time a similar event happened at home.

Having five children five and under and a teenager with a mutant power of ordering the most expensive stuff on a menu.  We aren't allowed in don't eat in a lot of restaurants.  Some of it being monetary and the other being a logistical nightmare.  While we can usually have the kids share or the younger ones eat some of our food (Well actually just mine, KC doesn't like to share her food), it turns into a time where I'm making sure everyone is eating while my food quickly becomes room temperature.

Our most recent outing took place one Sunday after church.  Those meals are not really planned before church, because before church we're wondering why we can never find a pair of shoes that match for the kids.

It was KC, myself, Ladybug, Disco, Celi, The Emsters and D.  MaddSkillz was probably with his father.  I think the meal was good, because I don't remember eating most of it, well not right away anyways.  Mainly because of going to the bathroom.

Oh it wasn't me that had a rumble in the Bronx, it was my potty trained/ing children.

We get seating and Ladybug has to go.  So I take her while KC gets the kids organized and seated.  I get back and Disco decides he wants to go too.  Up until this point he never showed any interest in going to the bathroom.  While he was wearing a diaper, and really could wait (plus I was about to order), I took him to the restroom at his request.

Well doesn't have to go, so I get him re-dressed and bring him back to the table.  It's at this time when Celi (wanting to be like her older siblings) decides it's time for her to start her potty training.  Again, I'm thinking, she doesn't have to go and is wearing a diaper PLUS I want to order!!

Well she doesn't end up going, and I get her re-dressed to go back to the table.

There is no way, I'm taking The Emsters to the restroom no matter how much she protests.

So when we get the food, I believe this is the time when Disco says he really has to go.

Seriously!!!


So we go, and I forget if he actually went or not because it was during this time Ladybug comes running into the restroom to call out for me that Mommy needs me.

Seriously?!?!?


The Emsters had pooped and she was feeding D so she had to be changed.

This is why I promote drive-thrus.


I wanted to update my Facebook status with something like, "Tried going out to eat, but have spent more time in the restroom than at the table."

I opted not to for fear no one would take it in the same context I would.

Well, Outback Steakhouse [ Facebook / Twitter ] is promoting a "Dinner with Dad Experience" and is using Juggling Eric to promote the event.  Their ultimate goal is to get dad's to share more meals with their children more often.  Outback is being generous to offer one of my readers a $45.00 Outback Steakhouse Gift Certificate.  All I require is a comment below saying how you would use the $45 gift certificate.

It can't be used for alcohol, tax or gratuity. 


I will run this giveaway until the end of the week.  Friday June 24th at 11:59PM.

So please leave your comment below and I hope all of you had a great Father's Day.

“I wrote this post while participating in the "Dinner with Dad Experience" with Outback Steakhouse and received a a $45.00 gift certificate to give away, and one to for myself to thank me for taking the time to participate.”


4 comments:

Boltonshire Jeopardy.


It's time for Boltonshire Jeopardy.  Where you think you know the answer in the form of a question, but really you do not know squat.


Today's Category is...

Sounds simple enough.  It's not like it's a college level course or anything.   Here is the answer...


Simple word problem. Even if Disco falls asleep 2 and a half hours before he normally does, that means he should wake up around 5:30 at the earliest right?

WRONGO!!!

The correct answer in the form of a question is...


I so wish this wasn't true.







0 comments:

PoV: Sylvia


Sylvia Salinas approached the entrance to St. Juliet hospital a few minutes before nine Monday morning.  Her ear buds were set in her ear and no sound outside her mind was penetrating her determination to be pissed off.  She repeated the same Metallica song “Unforgiven” three times now.  Different versions of course, this particular set has a pretty awesome piano solo at the beginning.
She was lost in thought from events earlier this morning.  She and Carla had a fight before she went to school.  Carla came in late the night before and Sylvia was tired of it.  Carla had two bad semesters in a row at Meadow Brook University and was on scholastic probation, and she promised her mother she would focus more on school.
Carla always has excuses.  Most of the time it’s some sorority function she has  to attend.  Co-Ed cocktail parties, beach volleyball tournaments, whatever.
She always makes me out to be the villain.  She’s the one not holding up her responsibility.
Sylvia just wanted to listen to her music and get on with her day in her lab and just process blood samples all day.  Tonight she’ll escape with her recording of Real Housewives of New Jersey and a bottle of Merlot.
Everything will blow over and be okay after that.
The entrance doors slide open when Amber from the Emergency Room rushes through to stop Sylvia.
What the heck is this chick’s problem?
Sylvia removes her ear buds.
“Sylvia, have you seen or heard the news?”
She had been in her own emotional world all morning.
“No. Why?”
“There’s been a shooting, they’re going to be sending all the injured here.  We’re going to need your help in triage.”
Super.  So much for being alone.
“No problem.  Let me go put my stuff up and get my sweater.”
Amber left after plans were made and Sylvia went back to her ear buds.  She would look at other people and see their faces contorted and depressed.  She didn’t know why, and right now she didn’t care.  Her day was ruined now since she can’t sulk with herself.
I’m a good parent, but she just pisses me off.  Now I have to deal with this.
She’s been pulled to the ER quite a few times and it can get freezing in there.  She grabs the MBU hoodie that belongs to her daughter and walks the corridors to the emergency room. She pushes open the doors and it’s the worst she’s ever seen.  Dozens and dozens of people were crowding the front desk.  Those who weren’t at the front desk were glued to the television.
Apparently it’s something huge.
Sylvia removed her ear buds and focused on the TV news report.
“…Gutierrez-Galvan live from Meadow Brook University…..”
What the?!?
after classes had begun, pulled a fire alarm and started shooting as they filed out of the classes.  Preliminary counts are six wounded, and eight dead.  Including one administrator whose name is yet to be released… 
“….where tragedy happened on campus. We understand a lone individual went into a building a little over an hour ago 
“Carla!?!?”
“… as well as the alleged shooter.  Early reports state it was self inflicted, but according to police on the scene the alleged shooter was killed by a teacher, with one the killer’s own guns.”
What class does Carla have?Where should she be now?She should be in class.Why hasn’t she called?I told her she needs to get her act together and go to her classes.Even the early Monday ones.Oh crap, what if she was one of the ones wounded or shot?I’m a good mother, I would know if something happened to my baby, right?Was I too hard on her?Should I have let her make her own rules?I didn’t want her to do the same things I did.I only wanted the best.Why hasn’t she called?
Pregnant at fifteen by a boy who said he’d always be there.  Sylvia was eight months pregnant with Carla when Jesse took off.  He said he wasn’t ready to be a father and took off.  Sylvia was a statistic.  Hispanic Teenager who is pregnant by a boy who is no longer around.  She hated that people looked at her in judgement.  She knew she had to make the best for herself and Carla.
When she finished high school and then went to vocational school to become a Lab Tech, she wanted to show Carla that it takes hard work to get things and not let society label you a statistic. She was going to be a archetype for the young girls who were like she used to be.
Ow!
Sylvia’s concentration was momentarily broken by Vivian who works in the lab as well.
“Sorry about the pinprick.  We’re making them for the family of the students who go to the school.”
Sylvia looked down to see a maroon ribbon pinned to her blue scrubs.
“Why hasn’t she called, Vivian??”
It was rhetorical, because only God knew why she hadn’t called, but Vivian answered anyways.
“I’m sure she’s okay, Syl. You need anything?”
Sylvia shook her head and focused back on the television.  She stopped listening to the reporter, but was focusing on the background images of a parade of stretchers on their way to awaiting ambulances.  She knew which stretchers contained the dead.
They were the slow moving ones.
She finally pulled out her cell phone and dialed her daughter’s number.  Not taking her eyes off the live images of the dead parade, she listened to the ringing and then voice mail.
She dialed again.
Listening to the ringing and watching the convoy of stretchers she notices one of the paramedics go through something.  Maybe a purse?  Pulls out a phone, opens it and pushes a button.

Carla’s ringing stops suddenly and goes to voice mail.

No!

It has to be coincidence.

She calls again.

The same ringing.  She eyes the paramedic from before who goes through the purse again.  Looks at the phone.  Opens and puts it to his ear.

“I’m so very sorry!”

Sylvia’s eyes roll back and she collapses on the floor.

Blackness.

Sylvia wakes up in an ER exam room.  The lights are turned down and she tries to focus her thought.
Carla can not be dead.


What the hell just happened?  Was that a dream?  How long was I out? Please let it be a dream.  
She breathes in through her nose deeply then out her mouth to regain her senses.
“Carla?”


She turns suddenly and Carla is not there.  She could smell Carla.


Is that weird?  A mother knows the these things right?
She looks down and she is tightly gripping her daughter’s hoodie.  She brings it to her nose and can smell her daughter’s scent.  She begins to weep.
She exits the room and sees a group of nurses conversing.  She walks past them and over hears key words.
“Killer is alive.” “Out of surgery.”
Not for long.


Sylvia could not believe what she was hearing.  Her daughter was dead and her killer was still alive and in her hospital.
She does not understand why she is not a total mess.
Denial maybe?


Whatever it was, she was not in control of her actions.  She went into the drug closet where they kept all the medications.  While not a registered nurse, she knew the code to open the cabinet.  One night when a nurse, her friend Lindsay, had to meet her boyfriend she gave Sylvia the code to the medicine cabinet.  Sylvia never got to use the code.


Until now.
The code worked perfectly.  She did not know what to get so she pulled out a few syringes marked “Provasic”.  She then closed the cabinet and walked to the room where the shooter was being held.
There was no heaviness in her step.  No hesitation, no second thoughts.  She knew what had to be done.
This bastard took everything from me, I have nothing to lose.
She was amazed how no one paid her any attention.  With all the tightened security and measures being taken right now, no one was even looking at her.  Sylvia was getting closer to the room which held the killer.  A tall police officer was standing next to the door.  She pulled a chart from a nearby room, opened it up and pretended she was working.
 
“Good morning, Officer.  I have some medication for the patient the doctor ordered for his pain.”
 
“Okay?” Officer Bartlett responded.  “Where’s the other nurse… What’s her name?  Cindy?”
 
“She got called to assist in the surgery of one of the other victims.”
 
“I don’t know.  They gave orders that only specifically stated personnel are allowed to enter the patient’s room.”
 
Sylvia sighed.
 
“Okay.  I’ll go find Cynthia, but the doctor is not going appreciate the restrictions on medical care.  Even though this man did what he did.”
 
Sylvia saw confusion on the face of Officer Bartlett.  She could tell he was just doing his job, but was struggling with the supposed medical treatment needed.
 
“You know.  Don’t worry about it.  Just be quick.  I’ll clear it up later, okay?”
 
“You’re a nice man.”
 
Bartlett nodded, and when he did, Sylvia took a syringe and plunged it in the side of his neck.  Bartlett grabbed his neck and fell to the floor.  Sylvia looked around to see if anyone saw her.
 
No one.
 
She dragged him in the room.  When Sylvia stood up. she looked at the bed and the monster sleeping in it.
 
He doesn’t look like someone who would cause all this carnage.  Could this be a mistake?  Maybe he was a victim as well and they’re not sure yet.  This has to be a mistake.
 
Sylvia stood there staring over the alleged killer’s body, not knowing what to do or how to feel.  Still moments of Carla flashed before her eyes.  The first time she saw her precious little angel, the first day of school.  The trip to New York her sophomore year of high school, and her graduation.  Everything that made Carla special and defined their relationship as mother and daughter.
 
The last image she saw was the white sheet covering a stretcher.  She clinched her fists and dug her nails into the palms of her hands.
 
No!
 
The only mistake that was made, was this bastard thinking he can kill her daughter and get away with it.
 
Sylvia pulled the curtain around the bed and pulled the killer on the floor.  She slapped him in the face a few times to wake him up.
 
I want him to know he is about to die, unlike my Sylvia did.
 
The last slap accomplished her goal.  The killer’s eyes opened quickly.
 
“What?”
 
“Shut up, you!!  You killed my daughter.  Now you will die too you bastard!!!”
 
Sylvia bit the tip covering the needle off the syringe and pressed it against his neck.
 
“FREEZE!!! MBPD!!! PUT THE NEEDLE DOWN!!!”
 
A man in a suit rips open the curtain pointing a gun at Sylvia.
 
It’s not going to end like this.  They’re going to have to kill me to prevent me from killing this man.
 
“Stay back,” Sylvia calls out.  “ I will kill him!!!”

0 comments:

PoV: Nate

It was Nate Logan’s first week as a detective for the Meadow Brook Police Department.  His first day actually.  He passed his exam, left patrol, and was now working in the homicide division.  He sat in his town car at the corner of Austen and Dawson waiting for the light to turn green.
 
“Turn left in 70 feet” his GPS system informed him.
 
He knew how to get to the school. He graduated from there eight years ago.  He graduated at the top of his class with a BA in Criminal Justice.  He always thought it was ironic that the two major degree plans at Meadow Brook were Criminal Justice and Drama.  One half of the college was focusing on finding the truth, the other half focused on playing aliases and fake people.
He pulled up next to a curb adjacent to a building marked off with yellow tape.  Some students were crying others were praying.  A convoy of ambulances and emergency vehicles blocked the street from anyone non-essential getting through.
 
Stretcher after stretcher and wheelchair after wheelchair were being paraded from the building.
 
Nate opened a bottle of aspirin and took three tablets.  He had a celebratory evening with his wife last night.
 
Probably not a good idea to drink a bottle of red wine the day before your new job.
 
Prophylactics be damned.  Now that he’s a couple pay grades higher, Karen thought maybe they should start trying for a family.
 
They didn’t get much rest last night.
 
Nate stepped out of his town car, lifted the tape and started walking towards the building.
 
Nate adjusted his sunglasses.  The sun was amazingly bright this morning.  If it wasn’t for this massacre, it would be a pretty good day.
 
Nate’s new partner, Arthur Linus approached.
 

“Good morning, Detective.”
 
“Morning, Art.  Is it really a good one, considering?”
 
“Touché.  Ready for your first homicide case?”
 
“I have to be.  I forced myself not to think much about it on the way up here.  What happened?”
 
“About 8:20 this morning, the suspect walked into Shepard Hall, pulled a fire alarm, and when people started filing out, he just started to open fire.”
 
“Casualties?”
 
“Six wounded. Eight dead. Two of the dead are the shooter and the hero.”
 
“Hero?”
 
Art looked at his notes.
 
“Yeah, initial reports say that a theatre arts teacher tackled the guy and grabbed his gun.  He killed the shooter, but was hit as well.”
 
“Seriously?”
 
They approach the door which is being held by a uniformed officer who gave a congratulatory smile at Nate.
 
“Detective.”
 
“Morning Bartlett.”
 
Nate entered the hallway and removed his sunglasses.  It took a second for his eyes to adjust. Then when they did, he wished it would be blurry again.
 
Oh my goodness.
 
The close-quartered hall was littered with bodies.  It was if a category five hurricane of death and mayhem hit this place.  Blood stained the floor and wall.  It even found its way 
into crevices and light sockets.  The photograph taken in his mind will no doubt breedscary monsters and ferocious beasts in his coming dreams.
 
“Is there going to be enough room in our morgue for all of these bodies?”
 
They didn’t live in a small town, but they weren’t huge like Las Vegas, Miami, or New York.
 
It’s going to be surreal, but they’re going to use the university’s laboratory morgue.
 
Perfect.
 
Nate looked down at a kid wearing a trench coat.
 
What’s with the creepy smile?
 
“This our shooter??”
 
Art nodded.
 
Nate squatted and paid attention to the bullet hole in the kid’s chest.
 
“Do we have a name?”
 
“No ID found on him, we’re trying to find out if he’s a student or not.”
 
Nate frowned.  It’s a look his wife knew all too well.  It meant that his wheels were spinning.
 
“And our hero??”
 
Art pointed at the crumbled body leaning against the wall.
 
Nate swiveled on the balls of the feet 180 degrees and did a once over.
 
Poor bastard.
 
He looked at the wound in the hero’s shoulder.
 
“His name?”
 
Art looked in his notebook.
 
“Tennpenny. Luke Tennpenny, he was a theatre teacher here.”
 
Nate shot a surprised look at Art then moved the hero’s chin to get a good look at his face.
 
“Luke?!?!!”
 
Nate was in shock.  He new this guy.  He knew Luke.  They used to be room mates here.  They used to be best friends.
 
Holy Crap?? Does Alicia know yet? 

This is horrible.
 
“Do you know this guy?”
 
“He was my best friend.  I haven’t seen him in a few years.  I didn’t know he moved back here.  Has his family been told?”
 
“Not yet. We found a phone next to him.  We assume it’s his.”
 
“Let me do it.  I know his wife.”
 
“Fine with me.  You need me to ride along?”
 
“I’ll be fine.”
 
Nate rushes from the scene back to his car. He finds the address and rushes to Luke’s house.
 
Please not be home. Please not be home.
 
As bad as Alicia needed to know, he doesn’t know how to tell her.  He knocks on the door.
 
Alicia answers, absolutely hysterical.
 
“Nathan?”

“Hey Alicia..”
 
“Is this about Lucius??”
 
“Yeah it is..”
 
Nate’s phone rang. It was Art.
 
“Nate, just got a call from the ambulance.  The shooter is alive.”

0 comments: