Fiction
- Written by: Bent Lorentzen
- Category: Fiction
BUT FOR THAT TEARFUL KISS
Journey to Alpha Centauri
by Bent Lorentzen
Read more: BUT FOR THAT TEARFUL KISS - Journey to Alpha Centauri
Grober Tag Ranch, Kaumana Road, Near Hilo, HI -- 1:45 PM
The Grober Tag Ranch house had seen better days, but they were long gone. Of the twenty-four panes in its six-over-six casement windows, only one was intact. Ferns grew out of the rooftop. The front porch sagged. For several minutes, as Trask and the bruisers ransacked it, Kane leaned on his walking stick outside, listening to the random bangs and thuds from within.
Outside Dudgeons’ Compound – 10:10 AM Hawaii Time
From the monkey pod tree on the previous night, Nachtmann caught a glimpse of Dudgeons inside the main building. That sighting kept him motionless for over and hour, waiting for a shot opportunity that never came. Spending that much time, nearly naked and lying over a crook between two branches, left him stiff and sore.
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Hilo Buddhist Temple, Hilo, HI – 9:00 PM Hawaii Time
An escape hatch had been built into the wall of the temple during WWII, so the story went, to allow conscientious objectors a means of avoiding capture by MPs. A recently fired sniper rifle over his right shoulder and two spent cartridges in his pocket, Nachtmann was clearly not a pacifist. Still, he too needed a fast exit. Squeezing through a small opening, he slipped out of the building and into a small garden.
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Chapter Four
Sunday, April 11, 1993
INSTALLMENT 1 | INSTALLMENT 2 | INSTALLMENT 3
Garrison Residence, San Francisco, CA -- 2:00 PM PST
Hal Frederick stayed with James Garrison for the better part of an hour after the phone call to Allen Kertz. He completed his inquiries regarding the child, used Garrison’s phone, fax and desktop computer to notify the pertinent authorities of the boy’s status. Then, he apprised Garrison of his options.
Desert Pioneer Hotel Kingman, AZ -- 6:55 AM
Hugh Nachtmann’s ego would not allow him to take pleasure from popular literature, lest he be thought common. He read only the classics. Identifying strongly with the dissolute Sidney Carton in Tale of Two Cities, he had plowed through Dickens’ masterpiece no less than eight times. Now, sitting atop the riser as Franklin approached, he was just finishing a monograph by Renaissance philosopher Nicolo Machiavelli entitled “Concerning Cruelty.”
