Chapter 2 The Introduction

     

                                                       

           "Daddy you're kidding. You can't be serious." Sixteen year old Gem's face was mashed up in dismay. "And it stinks." She pinched her nose and breathed through her mouth.
          "You do know that stink germs can be inhaled through your mouth and latch onto your inners and eventually come out through you skin and nose. In summary, you'll stink." Capster laughed.
          Gem released her pinched nose. "Daddy, that's not true and you know it."
          "Look Gemmy." That's what Capster called his daughter. It was his special name for her. A name that has stuck to her like peanut butter. "You're looking at it all wrong. Don't see what's there. See what it can be."
          Gem tried. She stood, feet slightly apart, hands pressed against her slender waist and gave the building her best Wonder Woman stare. Of course she was in need of some sort of supper powers to do what her father wanted. He wanted her to see a phantom. Something that wasn't there. Her arms fell to her sides, her head drooped as if exhaustion had overtaken her. "I'm sorry daddy. I don't see it. It's a spooky, ugly building that stinks and if you buy it, well..." She wanted to say, "you're crazy,"  but she knew better. It was disrespectful which carried a sentence of her iPhone being locked away for 24 hours. "Well, I'll be disappointed," is what she finally said.
          "Disappointed?" Capster was knocked off kilter. "Why Gemmy? It's just going to be a bar. An investment in our future."
          Gem was looking sheepish. She gave the dirt a great study and toed a few samples. "I was thinking maybe there could be a small, nothing large, just a small hangout area for teens." She inhaled deeply and held her breath waiting for the disheartening answer.
          Capster tilted his head, thumb and index finger bristling over his goatee. "Well now, that could work Gemmy. A hangout for teens and..."
          "And what Daddy?"
          "I was trying to think of something cleaver. A catchy name."
          "Club Ratchett," Gem offered with the enthusiasm of finding a new best friend.
          Her father studied her. Where would she come up with a name like that. "Why Club Ratchett?"
          Gem was watching her father. She knew she had to give a great dissertation if she expected him to consider the name. "Well the club would be like a ratchet, something that moves up and down. Like in the early evening the ages would be younger and later the ages would ratchet up. Or the name would intrigue people. Make them want to come. When they hear it, they would envision something wild and daring. A place to go to get out of their hum drum skin."  She folded her arms around herself just as she did when she was much younger waiting for her father to say no you can't go to a sleepover or no you can't get a tattoo. Her lashes blinked rapidly with anticipation. She even felt a drop of sweat glide from her armpit down her side beneath her shirt. Her eyes finally met with her father's. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. Neutral. That's how she would describe his expression. Neutral. So she waited. More goatee rubbing. More silence. "Well," she finally blurted out. She tried to hold it in, but it was bubbling inside her causing pressure until the one word was blown out into the atmosphere.
          "Well little lady, I think you nailed it. I like it." A wide smile crept up his face surprising his daughter.
          On the rotten wooden railing the black bird sat. Gem eyed the bird. Had it been there the whole time? She could swear it was shaking it's head in agreement. It's beady black eyes stared at her and then it flew away. Gone as if it had never been there at all.
     

                           GUILTY, the newest Brigitta Moon Novel

Club Ratchett - Destined to become your new hangout

The antediluvian, decrepit Brownstown appeared ghostly against the evening, dingy sky. Battered shutters sidled against the shards of glass. The stone steps leading to the double-wide, prodigious doors clad in weather-beaten paint, worn down over time by heat and cold and water were not screaming, a welcome to visitors. The murky paint dangled from the doors, crinkling and peeling like a disease. A cool drizzle tapped out a tinny tune on Capster's Harley. His bike was like a kindred spirit to the building with it's black paint and cross-boned skulls. He rolled the hog against the curb, pinned a hard stare on the fossil of a building and revved the engine once, then again and again. Now if any other world creatures were lurking, they have been warned.  He cut the engine. One wet, black boot on the blacktop, the other knocked back the jiffy stand. He removed his black helmet sporting body parts, bones and skulls, and stowed it over a tallboy handlebar. His right leg lurched back as Capster disassembled himself from the motorcycle.
          With both black boots on the street, Capster made a 360 degree survey of the geriatric, forlorn building. He blinked against the cool drizzle. He guessed maybe in the past there had been neighbors, but on this dreary, rainy evening there were none. The Brownstone stood lonely under the low hanging, grey clouds. Discarded beer cans, wine bottles, food and candy wrappings lay around the foot of the building as it's only overnight guests. The grass surrounding the building was thin and brown with more dirt than the green stuff peeking through and it carried an unsalable perfume, castaway body juice.
          If you were a passerby with your nose pressed against the window, it would appear that Capster was standing out in a lonely desert. No One except him, the Brownstown and the gloomy evening. Just as a wry smile was creeping across Capster's lips, a crow flew up and perched on a dank wooden rail. It's little head tilted up at him and the beady, black beaned eyes looked Capster over. The crow's beak parted and emitted cackles. Capster eyed the bird wondering if it was warning him off, calling for backup or just reading his mind and thinking Capster a fool. Capster didn't care. It was just a stupid, ugly bird. The drizzle had slacked off and Capster continued his survey around the elderly building, ever so often looking back at the ugly bird. It felt right. He could feel the tugs on his heart muscles. This was it. It was a destined match. This was the building Capster would make his future. He needed a building for his plans and this building definitely had to need an owner. He nodded his chin at the building. His way of saying I'll be seeing you.
                         

                            GUILTY, the newest Brigitta Moon Novel