Paulin turned his field jacket collar up. “Jeez, the desert gets cold at
Sergeant Snyder squirmed over on his side to ease a lower leg muscle cramp.
Lonely stars glanced at each other in the dark sky. Occasional flashes to the
“Do you suppose they know we’re over here, Sarge?”
“Now what the hell do you think?”
“I was just asking. This is your third hitch and I’ve been here three days.”
“Paulin, they damn well know we’re here — feel better?”
“I’d kind of like to see who’s trying to kill me tonight.”
“If you don’t wanna die, stop joinin’ the fuggin’ army.”
The sergeant inched his way up the knoll with his elbows, keeping his weapon out
Snyder turned his head. ”Keep that goddamn muzzle outta the dirt — squeeze off
The breeze stopped and silence took over.
“Paulin — hear that?
Snyder propped himself on an elbow and looked back. “I heard a rustlin’ sound
“Sarge, if you’re tryin’ to scare the crap out of a new man, yer doing a good
“Is that what I smel–”
Shots knifed through the dawn.
Category Archives: Ramon Collins
Shadows grew longer. Across the bayou a lonely crow put in a long-distance call to an old girlfriend. Alvin bent forward and wiped his forehead with the front of his T-shirt. “Have mercy, it is hot. Let’s peel off some clothes an’ dive in.”
“Too many cottonmouths ’round here,” Lottie said.
Alvin scooted nearer to her. “You got one nice-lookin’ built on ya. That’ll sure bring out the nature inna man.”
Lottie leaned away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“L’see how big they are.”
Lottie jumped to her feet and jammed her hands onto slim hips. “No way–”
“Gawdammit, there you go gettin’ all riled-up agin. One little peek will hurt none. Please?” he pleaded.
Alvin stood and yawned. “Man can’t always be held responsible for what happens — I better mosey on back. Fish ain’t bitin’ for shit, anyhow.”
“Fish don’t feed good ‘til the sun drops.” Lottie glanced around. “Oh, all right, but you can’t touch.”
She unbuttoned her blouse halfway down. Alvin’s eyes widened. “Mercy! Kin I touch just one?”
“No, you cannot.”
“Gimme a good reason.”
Lottie frowned. “There’s a real good reason.”
They fished in silence for awhile then drew in their lines, packed the fishing gear and trudged to the road that led back to town. A half-mile down the road, Lottie turned off on a path.
“Be fishin’ next Sunday?” he asked.
She paused, but didn’t look back. “I won’t be fishin’ with you anymore, Uncle Alvin.”
Red neon flashed through the window, where the worn drape didn’t quite meet the wall. Linda leaned on an elbow and watched the flicker on Rick’s bare shoulder.
“Do you really love me?”
Rick forced his left eye open. “Uh — I sure did there a minute ago.”
“Rick, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Linda swung her legs off the bed, sat up and stared at the wet gleam on
her inner thighs. “I mean, where are we going?”
“Dunno about you, but I’m goin’ to sleep.”
“For chrissake.” She stood and padded toward the bathroom.
Rick rolled his head on the pillow. “Nice ass.”
She paused and wiggled. “How’d you like to kiss it?”
The bathroom door slammed.
People said Marvin Miller was born flat-out miserable. After flunking out of an Ivy League university, “Miserable” Miller inherited a fortune, cracked up and retained the counsel of Dr. Beatrice Kukuber, psychiatrist.
Forty sessions later, Marvin refused to talk anymore and sat staring at Dr. Kukuber for the appointed hour. When she suggested he retreat to a South Sea island to find himself, he booked a flight and checked into a resort near Samoa.
One night Marvin went for an underwater walk. The suicide note read:
My darling Kuku:
I found myself. But I’m here, too.
Forever love, Marvin