First, the easy and free one… it’ll only take a few minutes. Here is the sneak peek. My profile on Vocal Media.

I would like to reach a thousand total reads on Vocal by the end of the month. On 31 July I was standing at 779. Eight reads a day would propel me to over 1000. To help accomplish that, I will be posting up a few collections of the short stories here over the next couple of weeks. If you would take a moment and read a story or two, the 221 reads will go by in a flash.

It is an affiliate link of sorts. I get paid for reads on Vocal… but not much. The thousand reads will put me at $6 for readership. So, your reads will pay me six-tenths of a cent each. Obviously, it isn’t about the money…

The other goal is different… smaller, yet so much larger in multiple ways.

I wrote my first book almost two years ago. I set one goal when I published the first book, and so far have kept to it. I have put no more money in than has come out first. All of the publishing has paid its own way. I wanted to prove I could do it. If I could publish a book… or books… without spending money, then anyone could do it. I HAVE spent a small amount of money on promotion… very small. But I had to make profit first.

That has been incredibly limiting, though. I have taken advantage of free promotional opportunities and given away thousands of ebooks. That has resulted in sales equating to hundreds.

Now, I want to try to have a month where I make $100. It will take 50 books sold, or read on Kindle Unlimited. Fifty readers can smash this goal. Seems so easy.

The reason it is huge is that it will vault me up in the standings on Amazon. Right now, my books each hang out around #1,000,000 on the sales list. Honestly, while it is horrible, there are a few million titles further down the list. Getting several sales will push them incredibly higher. That makes them more discoverable.

I don’t want to get 50 sales in one month and then drop it… the longer term goal is to build sustainable sales. But to do that, I need to do it once. After they start getting consistent sales, they can start hanging out close enough to the top of the list that they are found organically when people search.

So… I’d LOVE for you to buy one of my books, and maybe even tell a friend. If you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber, give a couple of them a read. And, as always, I’d love your constructive feedback.

“I don’t think I have,” she replied, pouring him another glass. 

“Pour one for yourself, too.  Put it on my tab.”

She reached down under the bar and produced another glass.  She poured a measure for herself and left it sitting on the bar between them.

“It sucks sometimes.”   He paused.  “I mean, sure, sometimes it’s great… anonymity… you can do whatever you want, and nobody knows.  But other times, it would be nice to get a little credit, you know?”

“I guess I can see that.  Someone at work steal your thunder?” she asked. 

“My wife.  She didn’t steal any of my thunder, though.  She made her own.  My thunder is silent, so everyone thinks all the lightning is from her.”

“That’s kind of cryptic, Mr…” she said, fishing for a name. 

“Dixon, Jack Dixon.”  He put his hand out over the bar to shake hers.

“Lori Taylor,” she said, taking his hand.  She noted how soft it was, but he also had a firm grip.  “Do you have a ride home, Mr. Dixon?”

“Not yet, Miss Taylor… but I promise not to drive.”

Jack picked up the glass and swallowed its contents again.  He enjoyed the single malt as it burned a path down his throat.  He looked down at the glass, but the bartender didn’t move to refill it. 

As he picked up his, she moved to pick up the glass in front of her.  She swirled the liquid for a moment, enjoying the aroma.  She picked up the spices, and a hint of orange.  She swallowed her drink.  It’s smooth and woody, she thought. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dixon.  That is a very fine whiskey.  I don’t really think you need anymore, though.  I might recommend some water, instead,” she said as she put a bottle of water in front of him.  It was almost closing time.

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folio.  He slipped the black credit card from a slot in the folio and set it down on the bar.  Lori scooped it up and went to run it through the machine.  A moment later, as Jack finished off the bottle of water, she set the guest check in front of him.  He quickly signed before she could walk away, the cheap pen flying across the page.  He added a tip and folded her copy and slipped it back across the bar.  His copy and his card went back into his folio and into the pocket. 

“Are you going to be ok, Mr. Dixon?” she asked, not looking at the paper as she slipped it into the pocket of her apron. 

“I think so, Miss Taylor.  Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Lori slipped the merchant copy from her apron to close out the ticket.  It was closing time and she had a few minutes while the bar cleared.  She glanced down at the ticket. 

6   Balb25   $50    $300

Tip                    $10,000

Total                $10,300

She hadn’t been paying attention when she rang it in.  She knew that the Balblair 25 was a high-quality whiskey, but fifty dollars for a glass.  That surprised her.  She liked it but couldn’t imagine spending that much for a few ounces of whiskey.

Then she looked at the tip again.  She had thought it was a hundred until she started punching it in.  Surely that’s wrong, she thought to herself.  She turned to look, but the bar was empty of its patrons, only a few staff remaining. 

“Hey, Andy, did you see where the guy at the bar went?” she called out. 

“Out the door, Lori… I don’t care after that,” came his brusque reply. 

She finished her closing duties and grabbed her purse to leave.  She stepped out the back door and into the small parking lot next to the building.  As she walked toward her aging Nissan Sentra, she saw a man leaning against the lowest, meanest, blackest car she’d ever seen. 

“Mr. Dixon?” she said tentatively. 

“Hi, Miss Taylor.  It seems I don’t have my mobile phone.”

“It’s quarter after two, not many people would answer anyway” she smiled.  “Do you need a ride?”  As the words came out of her mouth, she wondered to herself why she would offer this man she didn’t know, a ride home. 

“If it isn’t too much trouble.  You can drive my car if you want,” he said, slurring.

She shook her head for a moment.  She knew she was about to accept, but she didn’t know why.  Normally, she did everything she could to remain anonymous herself.  She didn’t want her customers to know her.  She wanted to do her job, collect her tips, and leave. 

“Sure,” she said as he scissored the driver’s side door up. 

“He just needs to blow off steam.  And he tips well if he’s handled right.”

“Fine…”

Ginger walked out of the restaurant kitchen to the dining room.  For slow days at lunch, they had a bartender to handle the full bar and skipped having an ice cream person… a Soda Jerk.  At lunch, there would only be a few requests for alcohol, but most of the ice cream people weren’t trained to mix drinks, and there were always a few requests. 

“Ginger Phogg,” the man seated at the bar said as she walked behind the counter, “they told me you weren’t here today.  I guess their incompetence extends to the inability to read a schedule, too.”

“I’m filling in for someone… I was running late.  Rough morning, Mr. Abbott?”

“No… nothing unusual,” he replied. 

“For lunch do you want your usual?”

“Tell me what you think my usual is…”

“Double burger, medium, cheddar and bacon.  Brown mustard, light ketchup, mayo and diced onions.  Fries, extra crispy.  Did you want a vanilla shake, too?”

“Are you the only person here that has a clue, Ginger?” Kyle replied, a weak smile on his lips.

“I just got lucky,” she smiled in return. 

Ginger entered his order into the system.  She turned around and started his shake after getting him a glass of water, light on the ice as he preferred it.  As she waited for the food to come out, she prepped a few soft drink orders that came up on the printer, ignoring the icy glare from the bartender that thought she was out to muscle in on his tip-out at the end of the shift. 

A few minutes later, the day manager walked out with the food order for Mr. Abbott.  He handed it across the far end of the bar to Ginger.  She carried it to her customer and slid the plate in front of him. 

“Here you go, Mr. Abbott.  Enjoy,” she said. 

“How many times have I told you to call me Kyle?  And what makes you think you can tell me to enjoy it?” he asked.  His eyes were hard, and he barely concealed the sneer on his face. 

“Sorry, Sir.”

Ginger backed away to give him some space and clean a few things behind the bar.  She prepped a couple of sundaes for the waitstaff as she passed the time. 

Kyle was halfway through his burger when he called Ginger back over.  “Are you sure you put the order in right?” he barked. 

She glanced down at the burger… pink center, perfect medium.  “I’m sorry.  I can get a new one.”

“Whatever…  Nevermind.” he mumbled. 

“Sir, I can take that to the kitchen, and have it redone,” Dave said, his voice chipper as he started reaching for the plate with the offending food.

“Back the hell up and get away from my food, Slim,” Kyle barked, causing Dave to jump back. 

“I’ll take care of it, Dave,” Ginger said.  She nodded her head toward the end of the bar. 

“Leave the food… I’ll just deal with it,” Kyle said quietly to Ginger. 

“If that’s what you want, Kyle.”

He gave her the hint of a warm smile before returning to his fries. 

“Dave, leave him to me,” Ginger said tersely to Dave a moment later.  “I have this.”

“If his food is bad…” Dave started. 

“His food is fine, Dave.  Everything is perfect.  It was out fast, and it was right.  He just needs to blow off steam.  I have him… don’t worry about it, ok?” 

Dave shook his head and walked away as Ginger went back to check on Kyle.  He grunted and complained as she refilled his glass, making sure to keep the ice under half of the glass as she refilled it. 

A few minutes later he called her back over.  “You got my check?” he asked. 

She slipped it out of her pocket, in the folder, and set it in front of him.  He quickly shuffled some bills into the folder, turned and stalked out the door.  Ginger picked the folder up and pocketed the bills before heading to the register to pay his tab.  She pulled a twenty out of the wad and stuffed it into the tip-out jar for the bartender as he looked on.

“Dave, I’m out.  I’ll see you tomorrow at the regular time,” Ginger said, walking through the kitchen. 

“What’s the deal?” he asked, catching up to her. 

“Mr. Abbott was having a bad day at work and just needed to blow off some steam.  If he ever comes in and asks for me… just call me.  I don’t mind.”

“Why does he want to deal with you so much?” Dave asked. 

“Because no matter how rude he gets, I smile and mostly leave him alone.  He’ll be in tomorrow, too, and we’ll talk for a little while.  He’ll apologize for being mean today, but I know he didn’t mean it.”

“How do you know?”

She slipped the five one-hundred-dollar bills from her pocket and showed them to Dave.  “He won’t tip anyone else like that.  A couple of people have tried.”

“Why you, though?”

“No clue.  But if he wants to complain about the food, then tip me like that, I’m good with it.”

“FireFly, right?” the older man said.

“Who’s asking?”

“Gunnery Sergeant William Grafton, Retired.  I was called Big Red at one point in my life.  Force Recon.”

“Pleased to meet you Big Red.  I’ve actually heard of you.  Must have been one hell of a Marine for you to be mentioned in BUDS,” Taylor said as he put his hand out to shake.  “Was there something you wanted to talk with me about, Sir?”

“You can call me Gunny.  And yes, I want to talk with you about a job. I have a friend that needs a security specialist, and you might be uniquely qualified.”

“You do realize that I have an OTH Discharge, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I know why.  I don’t care.  You were a solid team member and,” as he tipped his head toward the table of sailors there on his behalf, “your team feels the same way.  I’ll be over in the corner.  When you are done with your party, come on over and we can talk.”

Gunny paid the tab for Taylor and sent another round to the table before returning to his small group back in the corner of the bar. 

***

“Wait, seriously, Taylor, Big Red approached you at the bar about a job?” PO1 Todd Bouthillier said.  “My dad knew a guy that went to work for him back in the day.  Dude is loaded now.  No matter what, you need to talk with him.”

Cory took a long pull from his beer.  That had been an hour ago.  He glanced up in the mirror behind the bartender and saw that Grafton was still sitting in his corner.  There were a man and a woman with him at the table.  As his friends filtered out, Cory walked to the back of the bar and dropped into the open seat across from Grafton, between the other man and the woman. 

“You wanted to talk, Gunny?” Taylor said.  His personal defenses were up.  He didn’t like it when people he didn’t know knew him… and knew private details about him. 

“Would you prefer we call you Cory, Taylor, FireFly or something else?” Gunny asked. 

“What I would prefer is to know how and why you have been digging into me… Sir.”  The flash in Taylor’s eyes displayed his anger. 

“Fair enough.  The ‘how’ is that I have access to a lot of people in various echelons of special forces.  I have helped them, and they keep an eye out for people with special talents.”

“So, I have a special talent?  What might that be?” he asked. 

“Hi… Cory…  My name is Melody Grafton.  I went through your records and talked to a few people.  Dirk,” she motioned to the other man sitting with them, “has an employee that needs a bodyguard.  She will need someone that is close, but that won’t become a love interest, if you get my meaning.”

“So… because you found out I’m gay?”

“Honestly, that is part of it.   The rest of it is that the two of you are very likely to hit it off,” Melody replied. 

“What if we don’t ‘hit it off’?” Cory asked. 

“That’s a fair question,” Gunny replied.  “I’m aware of your situation.  No matter what, some friends of mine will be working to correct the ‘Other Than Honorable’.  In addition, you will be paid for a year.  If it doesn’t work out, we’ll give you a generous severance package.”

Cory looked at Big Red.  The older man didn’t shy away from his glare.  Instinctually he trusted the retired Marine.  Everything he’d heard about him pointed to him being a man of his word.  His eyes moved to the woman… Melody Grafton.  She had long dark hair, streaked with gray.  She sat close enough to Big Red to touch him.  As he looked her over, she also didn’t avert her eyes, but instead challenged him.  She looked like she could see into him.  He knew the look… he’d seen it with interrogators.  It was the way they looked at people they were questioning.  She was measuring him every bit as much as he was measuring her.

“I guess I’m in,” Cory replied. 

“I’m Dirk Bryce.  Glad to have you aboard,” Dirk said, rising to shake Cory’s hand.  “Welcome to Cumulus Cloud Systems.”

***

Melody Grafton spent two weeks working with Cory Taylor.  She taught him everything he needed to know in order to get in good with his protectee.  He already had most of the pieces in place. 

“Cory, part of the deal is that she will not know you are protecting her.  If she thought you were, we feel that she would limit your access, making it hard to complete our mission.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

“Just Melody, Cory.”

***

Jenny Coolidge walked into her boss’s office and sat down in the only available chair.  She didn’t recognize the man sitting in the other chair, but she did notice that he was quite attractive and had perked up when she entered the room. 

“Jenny, this is Cory.  He’s going to be your new right hand… your Administrative Assistant.”

“Hi, Cory,” Jenny said, leaning over to shake his hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Coolidge.”

“First off, you are gonna have to call me Jenny.  No formality.  Cool?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Jeez, Cory.  How old are you?  I’m twenty.  You have at least a couple of years on me.  Calling me ma’am isn’t going to win you any favors.”

“Sorry… habit.”

The three of them talked for a few minutes before Jenny took Cory back to her office and helped him get set up to be her assistant.  After a few hours, the two of them went out for celebratory drinks. 

Approaching the end of the driveway, she cranked the wheel to the left, sliding out onto the Ridgeback Road.  She punched the clutch and pulled the shifter back into second gear.  Glancing in the rearview mirror she saw the black Mercedes gaining on her. 

The road curved sharply to the right and dropped just ahead.  She jammed the brakes, feeling the ABS vibrating the pedal as she entered the turn.  The car rotated through the turn, then as she passed the apex, she eased into the throttle.

Another shot punched into the right door.

Grabbing third gear, she pulled out a little distance on the black Mercedes.  She lost sight of the other car in the bends coming down the mountain, crossing the yellow line at will to keep up her speed. 

Another shot rang out from the rear as the Mercedes slid sideways around curve behind her, the passenger waving a rifle out the window.  Helena grabbed fourth gear and her speed closed in on one-forty before she speed-shifted into fifth gear. 

She wanted to call her husband, but she couldn’t take her hands off the wheel for even a moment.  At least until she got to a straight.  But every time the road straightened out the Mercedes was there. 

There was an unexpected dip in the road, tossing the car off balance.  The bend in the road was ever so slight, but it was enough for the Corvette to careen out of control.  The rear end swung right, then snapped back left, throwing the car at the guardrail.  It clipped the end of the barrier and spun over the edge, sliding toward the lower switchback.  Just before getting to the lower road, a rear tire grabbed traction on a rock jutting out from the side of the steep drop-off.  The car flipped over, landing on the roof. 

The convertible offered no protection to Helena as the car slid upside-down off the other side of the road, plunging and twisting again over the cliff.  A moment later it slammed into another rock outcropping, coming to rest on its side, Helena’s torn body hanging from the seatbelt.