csyphrett

I wish I had a magnifying glass. CES

jim harper. the guardian. CES

The Shield 1940- 6 Flanagan sat behind his desk at his office and looked at his notes. The jacket had stopped four bullets without taking a scratch. He had felt the impacts, but had received no damage as far as he could tell. The small soreness he felt could be from the actual fight later instead of getting shot. He wondered how he would have felt if he had worn the shirt under the jacket. Would that have spread the impact even more after the initial hit? He couldn’t expect it to stop heavier weapon slugs, but it had been a good field test. He wished it had been something he had come up with and not because someone had tried to kill him. “Mr. Coutri and Mr. Westwood are here,” reported Miss Rich from the outer office. “Send them in,” said Flanagan. Coutri, a serious man in a good suit and grave demeanor, and Westwood, smiling too much and wearing a suit pulled off a rack somewhere, came in. Flanagan waved them to padded visitor chairs. He hoped they could help him out. “Thank you for coming,” said Flanagan. “I need your help with some problems that have come up.” “What kind of problems?,” asked Coutri. “A man named Arnold Courtland has persistently asked me to sell my interest, or the whole company, to him,” said Flanagan. “The answer has been no, but he won’t go away. I need you to dig into him, Mr. Coutri. I need to know everything you can find out about his financial status, and if anyone is behind him. I need a way to attack him, and possibly buy his company, and interests out from under him if I can. In any case, I want the offers to stop, as well as any offers to the board he might be making.” “I’ll see what I can do,” said Coutri. “It might take some time depending on how he has arranged his businesses to protect his holdings.” “Do what you can as fast as you can,” said Flanagan. “I need ammunition for the next board meeting.” Coutri nodded. He wrote the name down on a card and put it back in his suit pocket. “Mr. Westwood,” said Flanagan. He looked at a note on his desk. “Mr. Coutri has recommended you as an investigator. I need you to get me everything you can on a man named Ian Shanks. I need you to find him, and keep an eye on him. I need to know everyone he talks to, and everything he does until I figure out how he fits in to things.” He handed over the license he had taken from the gunman the night before. “I took this from him last night,” said Flanagan. “He tried to shoot me.” “Do the police know?,” asked Coutri. “The New Jersey State Police know about the attempt, and they have his gun,” said Flanagan. “I don’t know if they can trace it back to him, or if it belonged to someone else. They don’t know I took the license, or that I know who he is.” “That could lead to trouble down the road,” warned Coutri. “I’m not interested in the police catching him,” said Flanagan. “That would be nice, but it won’t solve my problem. I have someone trying to take over my company, and an attempted bombing of my main factory, and an attempted shooting of me. I doubt that Shanks decided on his own let’s kill Frank Flanagan. I need to know if he is working for Courtland, or someone else. If he is, then I can think about what I can do about it.” “I’ll put out some feelers,” said Westwood. “If he has a record, he might have some known associates I can use to find him. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to start at this address and work my way outward.” “Do whatever you have to do,” said Flanagan. “Only a few people know about this. A detective named Dern is looking into the bombing. He spoke to me at the hospital. The state police said they were going to hand the pistol over to a detective to chase down. He hasn’t called yet.” “It might take a while,” said Westwood. “I assume if we find this Shanks, you’ll want to turn him in.” “I’m more interested in finding his boss,” said Flanagan. “If you see him committing some other crime, turn him in. I’ll be on the look out for his replacement.” “He missed,” said Westwood. “A new guy might already be out there. We won’t know until he takes a shot at you. I’ll get you a bodyguard to try to keep you safe.” “Don’t worry about that,” said Flanagan. “I have some things to do at my factory, but I don’t plan to be out in the open except for transit between here and there.” “How do you want to proceed after we complete these tasks?,” asked Coutri. “I don’t know,” said Flanagan. “I don’t know if they are connected. If we can prove that they are connected, we can take them both out by proving they’re a conspiracy. If they are separate efforts, then we can take one, then the other.” “All right,” said Coutri. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” “Leave everything with Miss Rich if I am not here,” said Flanagan. “She’s the only one I trust.” “Got it,” said Westwood. “Where is this factory, and does it have a phone?” Flanagan pulled a card from a tray on his desk. He wrote down the number of the lab phone on the back and handed it over. That struck him for a second. He paused at the thought. “Courtland called me on my private line at the factory,” said Flanagan. “Only four people other than you have that number, and I just gave you the number.” “So one of them must have talked to Courtland and handed him the number to call you,” said Westwood. “Names?” “Miss Rich, Frank Saxon, Jim Rydell, Larry Rutherford,” said Flanagan. “Saxon runs our West Coast operation. Rydell is on the board. Rutherford is my Treasurer and Financial Officer.” “There is a small chance that he didn’t get the number directly from any of these people,” said Westwood, taking notes. “He could have stolen it somehow, or hired someone to steal it for him.” “Find out,” said Flanagan. “I would stake my life on Miss Rich, but Saxon could get a promotion out of a change of ownership, Rydell would get some money if he was able to sell his shares, or get more shares in the new company, and Rutherford could want a bigger seat at the table.” “All right,” said Westwood. “I’ll put some men on them and see where they go. If Saxon is out west, I’ll call some people out there and subcontract the work.” “That’s fine,” said Flanagan. “Miss Rich, could you come in, please?” The secretary opened the door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her. “Miss Rich, Mr. Westwood is going to need personnel files and so forth from us,” said Flanagan. “Also he will have someone guarding you until this is over. You’re the only one I trust, and I don’t want any problems for you.” “So you think someone will throw a bomb at me?,” said Miss Rich. “Not really,” said Westwood. “I like to be thorough. Mr. Flanagan said Arnold Courtland called him at his lab, but only a few people have the number. Is there any way he could have gotten the number from you.” “Yes,” said Miss Rich. “Depending.” “I don’t understand,” said Westwood. “I have a list of people I have to call on my desk,” said Miss Rich. “Mr. Courtland has come here to talk to Mr. Flanagan. All he would have to do is look at the number for Mr. Flanagan’s lab on that list if he had time to read it between my notifying Mr. Flanagan he was here for his appointment and showing him to the office door.” “Do you know of anyone else who might know the number?,” asked Westwood. “Mr. Rydell,” said Miss Rich. “He likes to call if there is a slightest hiccup, and Mr. Rutherford, who calls when there’s some problems with our cash flow, or numbers. They call my office first, and then generally say they will call the factory looking for Mr. Flanagan. I assume they both have the lab number.” “Anybody else?,” said Westwood. “I don’t think so,” said Miss Rich. “Usually people call me, I call Mr. Flanagan, and he calls them back, or tells me to act on whatever I was asked.” “Can you give me an example?,” said Westwood. “When Mr. Flanagan came back to work after the bombing, I took a call from Mr. Rydell. He wanted to talk to Mr. Flanagan about what happened. I talked to Mr. Flanagan. Mr. Flanagan told me he didn’t want to be bothered while he was going over some of our production contracts. I told Mr. Rydell that Mr. Flanagan was busy and would call him back when he was done. He became a little huffy on the phone. I told him that Mr. Flanagan was busy, and it was fine to come down, but I was sure that Mr. Flanagan would throw him out of the building. It was better to leave a message.” “You told a member of the board I would throw him out of the building?,” said Flanagan. “Yes, sir,” said Miss Rich. “Mr. Rydell is too haughty for my liking.” “Thank you, Miss Rich,” said Westwood. “I am going to need the personnel files for a Frank Saxon, Rydell, and Rutherford for a start. Can you get them for me?” “Yes,” said the secretary. She left the office. “I like her,” said Westwood. “I wish my secretary would threaten some of my clients like that.” “I’m surprised Rydell didn’t demand I fire her,” said Flanagan. “Do you think this Courtland and the attacks are connected?,” asked Coutri. “They look that way to me.” “There are only so many options,” said Flanagan. “Either Courtland wants the company so bad that killing me is on the table so he can get it, or I have two enemies acting at the same time. Either way, I have to know what’s going on, and deal with it in some way.” “Don’t worry,” said Westwood. “If Shanks is connected to Courtland, it will take a bit to dig it up, but we will. He isn’t going to work for free.” “Shanks might have a helper,” said Flanagan. “I hit him on the head pretty good. It took a bit for the State Police to arrive, but he was gone. I am leaning on someone else being there and driving him away while I was calling the law, but his skull could be that thick.” “When we find him, we can see if he has someone who helps him out,” said Westwood. “Go ahead and get started,” said Flanagan. “As soon as I hear from Courtland again, I’ll call you so you know where he is.” “Be careful,” said Westwood. “I want to get paid.” “I’ll set up a fund with Miss Rich to pay even if I die,” said Flanagan. “I’ll sign the paperwork before I leave today.” “Have it filed at the courthouse before close of business,” said Coutri. “Otherwise, if you die tonight, we want get paid.” “I’m not going to die unless I blow up my lab,” said Flanagan. “If that happens, Courtland will be able to buy everything for a song.” “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Flanagan,” said Westwood as he stood. “I don’t think I have ever met someone so cool about someone wanting to kill him.” “This isn’t the first time something dangerous has happened to me,” said Flanagan. “I’ll call you in the next few days to check in. If something happens to me, Miss Rich will pay you to keep digging.” “You can call to check in, but it will probably be close to next week before I have something for you,” said Westwood. He looked at Coutri. “I don’t know how long it will take to dig into Courtland,” said Coutri. “We’ll have to do a ton of searches for his licenses and records just to get a handle on things if he is an honest businessman. If he isn’t, we’ll have to track him through any associates.” “See if he is connected in some way to Rydell,” said Flanagan. “The man owns a quarter of the company’s stock. He might want the rest.” “Makes sense,” said Coutri. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” He stood up and straightened his suit before joining Westwood at the door. They stepped out to talk to Miss Rich. Flanagan sat back in his chair. He needed information. If they could get him something, that would help him settle things so he could get back to work. He didn’t like the fact that he was a target, but he wasn’t a social butterfly. If someone wanted to get him, they would have to come at him at one of three places. He spent the most time at his lab, then his office, then his townhouse across the city. He idly considered what would happen if he went home. He wondered what would happen if he had protective gear. No one would be watching his house. He hadn’t been home since everything started. Any watcher would be bored out of their mind by now. He needed information. The townhouse was probably safe. If it was watched, would anybody be stupid enough to come after him? Could he grab one of his attackers? Did he want to be bait? Maybe he could use a tougher set of armor for protection just in case. Flanagan leaned back in his chair. It was too bad he couldn’t rule Saxon out of this. It would be nice not to have to worry about something while trying to get to the bottom of things. “Miss Rich,” he said into the intercom. “Could you come in here, please?” She appeared with pad and pen in hand. Her eyebrows knitted together as she wondered what he wanted. “Please sit, Miss Rich,” Flanagan said. He gestured at the visitor chair. “I would like to talk to you for a moment.” Miss Rich took a chair. “Do you have a boyfriend, a fiancé, Miss Rich?,” asked Flanagan. “Excuse me?,” said Miss Rich. “I need a date,” said Flanagan. //214054

Loaded Doreen's Duel for Hodgepodge CES

I would like to go with The Fighting American CES

I would like to pick Washington DC CES

Dreamed that I was watching the Simpsons on an adventure CES

Also when i was running Domino City, I had a lot of hells going on. CES

i did when I first started teaching myself to write I had the Van Helsing Brothers and their Dad's weird house. One of the rooms was a warehouse with a ton of cars, boats, airplanes, and other things. A portal door let them pilot one of the vehicles out. The inspiration was the house from the Mystic Masters and the tardis. CES

trump CES

I will defer to Bazza because I really have nothing at the moment. CES

How long do we have? CES

The Shield 1940 5 Flanagan didn’t move. Someone had shot him. He didn’t feel any pain. Shouldn’t he feel something? Was he dying? He closed his eyes and mentally took stock. He seemed to be okay other than lying on the side of the road on his face. Did he want to stand up? Was the gunman still there? What were his options? He heard steps crunching toward him. He decided that the walker was behind him and on his right side. How close was he going to come to make sure that he had committed the deed? The steps stopped. The position wasn’t close enough in Flanagan’s judgement. One of them would have to move closer to the other before he could get his hands on the other man. He heard the click of a pistol hammer drawing back. He knew that his coat would take another impact. His head wouldn’t. He had to take advantage of whatever surprise he had. Flanagan rolled against the other man. He took his assailant’s legs out from under him. He moved the other way as the man hit the road. The gunman tried to crawl away from the confrontation. He had lost his pistol somewhere so he didn’t shoot the suddenly living target like he wanted. He wanted the distance to find the gun, get set for continuing the fight, or running away. He did not like the sudden weight on his back, trying to bulldog him into the ground. Flanagan grabbed his enemy by the neck, wrapping an arm under his chin. He locked his grip with his other arm. He held on until the man stopped moving. He pulled the man’s jacket down to hamper his arms before looking around for the missing pistol. He spotted the revolver lying on the asphalt and scooted over to pick it up. He climbed to his feet and looked around. What did he do now? The gunman got his hands under his body to push up to his feet. A clubbing to the back of the head stopped that. Flanagan emptied the man’s pockets. He kept the small amount of money and the wallet he found. He left the rest on the road. He opened the wallet up and found that his assailant was Ian Shanks. He took the license card and dropped the wallet. He liked having a name for his enemy. It gave him avenues to attack. He walked back to the guard house. The police would know who Ian Shanks was if he had been in business long enough to feel their touch. At least he knew two things. His jacket had muffled the impacts of the bullets so he had barely felt them. He had to be personally killed for whatever plan to continue. Once he knew for whom Shanks worked, he would know who wanted him out of the way. “Hello, Mr. Flanagan,” said the guard. “How was your walk?” “Some guy tried to kill me,” said Flanagan. “Let me see the phone. I have to call the police to come out and get him.” “It will be the state police out here,” said the old man. “They handle anything outside the city.” “Thanks, Pop,” said Flanagan. His mind turned over the timing. Someone must have told Shanks he was coming back to the factory. Or Shanks had been told to watch for him. Were there watchers on his house? “Operator? I need to call the State Police. Someone tried to shoot me just down the road from the Flanagan chemical factory. I left him on the road to call for help.” Flanagan hung up. He leaned against the door of the box. He watched the road. He didn’t see any lights on the road, but that didn’t mean anything. If Shanks had a partner, the partner could drive up without lights, pick up Shanks, drive away, then cut his lights on to see. A minute without lights wasn’t going to slow a determined driver down any. “What went on?,” asked Pop. “Someone took a shot at me in the dark,” said Flanagan. “He missed. Now I’m hoping the police will arrest him so I can press charges and find out what’s really going on.” “A bombing and a shooting,” said Pops. “It doesn’t make sense.” “Why’s that?,” said Flanagan. “Why bomb the place? A bombing stops the place from working, but if it misses, then it does nothing,” said Pop. “Shooting you won’t stop the place from working. Others will keep it going because of the money involved.” “A man named Courtland offered to buy the factory,” said Flanagan. “If he blows it up, what good does it do him?,” said Pop. “Unless that’s the point. In which case, why offer to buy it? He must know you would never sell.” “I would never sell?,” said Flanagan. “Mr. Flanagan, you treat this place like it’s your child,” said Pop. “You’re here every night. You know everyone, and everyone knows you. Anyone with half a brain would know you would never sell once they heard you say anything about it.” “So you think the only way to get the factory is to get rid of me?,” said Flanagan. He smiled at the analysis. "Unless getting rid of you had nothing to do with the factory at all,” said Pop. “I don’t follow,” said Flanagan. “Yes, you do,” said Pop. “Whomever is trying to kill you might not care about the factory at all. You just think he does because of this offer for it. He might want to kill you for other reasons that you don’t know yet.” “So if I can figure out whom Shanks works for, I will know what’s really going on?,” asked Flanagan. “I don’t see why not,” said Pop. “On the other hand, you might have two enemies acting across from each other. One wants the factory, the other just wants you dead.” “Thanks, Pop,” said Flanagan. “Once you run down this Shanks, and whom he works for, then you can see if it has something to do with the factory,” said Pop. “If it is something personal, how many want to kill you?” “I don’t really know,” said Flanagan. “I would suggest you make a list,” said Pop. “Then you can check on everyone you suspect.” “Good idea,” said Flanagan. He considered the idea that he might have been wrong about someone wanting to take the factory from him. It opened up a list of suspects that he had no idea where it ended. He needed to have other people look into things he couldn’t do himself. He might need auditors to check his company finances. Were things going as well as he thought they were? Had he missed something? Flanagan came out of his reverie when he saw flashing lights approaching. He wondered if the state police knew this Ian Shanks. Who had hired the hitman? He considered that Shanks might be an alias. If it was, maybe it had been used often enough that someone real had been attached to it. A pair of state policemen got out of a marked car after it pulled up to the gate. They didn’t look happy to be called out in the middle of the night. One pulled out his pad to take notes as they approached. “I’m Patrolman Broderick, and this is Patrolman Coulsin,” said the lead officer. “Someone reported an attack.” “I did,” said Flanagan. “I was walking down the road. Someone shot at me. I fell down. When the robber got close enough to take my things, I jumped him and fled. I left him down where it happened.” Flanagan pointed into the darkness beyond the factory. “All right,” said Broderick. “That seems straight forward. He didn’t take anything?” “No, sir,” said Flanagan. “I got his gun from him and hit him with it. Then I came up here to call for help.” “You got his gun?,” said Broderick. “Yes, sir,” said Flanagan. He pulled the pistol from his jacket pocket. He extended it butt first. The state policeman checked the weapon’s cylinder, sniffed the barrel. He shook his head. “Been fired four times,” said Broderick. “Looks like a .38. Maybe the lab will have a ballistics match when we turn it in.” “Serial number?,” asked Coulsin. He wrote down the number as it was read to him. “This is the other guy’s?,” said Broderick. “Yes, sir,” said Flanagan. “Do you have a firearm?,” asked Coulsin. “I have one in my desk,” said Flanagan. “I use it to test materials.” “What do you mean?,” asked Broderick. “I work here in the factory, and some of the things that I work on have to be tested to see if they can be hurt,” said Flanagan. “Typically I use a .38 like this one. I don’t carry it around with me.” “What’s your name?,” Broderick pointed at Pop Stevens. “Paul Stevens,” said Pop. “What do you know?,” asked Broderick. “I saw Mr. Flanagan walk down the road here,” said the guard. “I heard some noise but I didn’t see what caused it. Mr. Flanagan walked back here from where he had gone. Then he called you from here instead of calling from inside.” “Flanagan?,” said Coulsin. “Frank Flanagan,” said Flanagan. “Why were you walking down there in the dark?,” asked Broderick. “I had been working on something,” said Flanagan. “I just came out to walk some of the frustration off.” Flanagan broke into the chemical formulae for the suit of armor he was working on without going into what he had already done. He noted that Coulsin seemed to write two words of his lecture down, but he didn’t see what they were. “All right,” said Broderick. “Can you show us where you left this guy?” “Sure,” said Flanagan. He checked his watch. “He probably came to and fled by now.” “If he is still there, we’ll take him in,” said Broderick. “The lab will run the gun for his fingerprints. It looks like a robbery gone bad. You’re going to have to file a statement.” “I’m ready to do that,” said Flanagan. “Where did you get that jacket?,” asked Coulsin. “It looks purple.” “I made it in my lab,” said Flanagan. “I had hoped for something else, but the chemical dye turns everything purple.” “Sounds bad,” said Coulsin. “Worse,” said Flanagan. “It’s scratchy like you wouldn’t believe.” “Bad, eh?,” said Broderick. “I would take it off, but I have to put it under a microscope now that I have worn it,” said Flanagan. “The faster we get this done, the better I’ll like it.” “Let’s collect our robber,” said Broderick. “Bring the car, Quin. I’ll walk down with Mr. Flanagan. Turn the high beams on. We don’t want to miss anything.” “Right, Pat,” said the younger officer. He put away his pad and walked over to the patrol car. He got behind the wheel as his partner and Flanagan started down the road. Broderick had Flanagan stay out of the light from the headlights as they walked. He paused at a spot and put down a quarter. He walked on for a bit more. “He should be a few feet ahead,” said Flanagan. “I remember the stars when I came around the bend.” Broderick looked back, shielding his eyes with a hand. He gestured for his partner to cut the lights. “The factory is out of sight,” he said. “The guard might have been able to hear the gunshots, but I don’t think he could have seen the sparks from there.” Flanagan looked over his shoulder. He agreed with the eyeball assessment. Even if Pop had seen the sparks of the shots, would he have thought they were gunshots, or something more innocent? Coulsin cut the lights back on and they walked forward some yards. Flanagan compared what he could see in the light to what he had seen in the dark. They were right on top of where Shanks should be. He wasn’t lying there for them to take away. “He’s gone,” said Flanagan. “He left some blood behind to prove your story,” said Broderick. He pointed at a patch in the road. He looked around. “He could be anywhere by now. We’ll put out a notice and hand the gun over to detectives to trace down. Maybe they’ll get lucky and run him down before he heals up.” Flanagan frowned, but nodded. There was nothing more he could do at the moment. //211624

Right now the Bierce stories I write have five Earths touching each other at a school. One is the Main line where Jack Dragon, The Leaguer, Johnny Shield, the Strangers, the Aces, and the Aces among other operate. Then the twin line is where the history is reversed where Jack Dragon is a super scientist instead of a magician, and so forth. But changes have been made like the Dialer is still alive from the Twin dimension while he is dead on the main line. Then a third earth has heroes who have nothing in common with the main or twin line. This was the home of the Visage, who died saving the world. A fourth has no magic or heroes. The US government created power suits during WW2, but the war was stopped when an alien plant invaded and everyone had to work together. Most of Europe and parts of other continents were devastated. The last Earth is the home of Alchemy based science where the Royal Family have ruled for decades as superhuman forces for good. CES

The Trigram is a master of martial and mystical arts using the I-Ching as a basis for his spells CES

The Animist hails from Kenya. His ability to call up spirits to do his bidding extends to the inanimate. CES

All I need is a title. I am going with the Battle of Grayskull. The basic plot for this is Skeletor wants Castle Grayskull. He and his troops can't get pass the Sorceress and her primary defender He-Man. He puts a call in to Hordak to try to arrange some kind of distraction. They are both called by Stampede who has heard of Grayskull but can't get to it from where he is and offers his primary agent Tex Hex to help out. So the three villains come up with a way to attack Eternia from Hordak's Fright Zone. She Ra tries to intervene. He Man and She Ra are sent to Earth. The Sorceress is left facing Skeletor, Hordak, and Tex Hex by herself. On Earth, He-Man and She Ra attract enough attention that several heroes gather around them, but it is Hiro Hamada and Hank Pym who realize they can use the teleporter from Krei Industries to get to Eternia and save the day. They enlist Abigail Callahn as their pilot and cross the border to save the day. The Sorceress returns the ad hoc team back to Earth at the end of the adventure CES

Trump has always been a liar. He's been money laundering for Russians and Ukrainians for years. He was selling overpriced condos to them right through the election. USA Today and the AP were covering this then. CES

Someone said the original chief got a movie offer. CES

maybe "I am not a crook" CES

He was a great speechwriter for Nixon. CES

I can't unsee that now. Thanks. CES

It's all right. Ann Coulter is just another flat earther/bigfoot hunter to me. I deal with people like her at work all the time. Most of the time, it's low key, but tonight I got this guy telling me they didn't put immigrant kids in dog kennels when news agencies from around the world were covering the story. I saw stories from Japan on this on PBS. Downtown Brown stopped me from going nuclear. I was like thanks Katie for stepping in. She was like you can't argue with the ignorant. People like Coulter are the same way. You can't point out how wrong they are in things because to them it's all fake news, and unproven democratic conspiracies. Some of it is willful, and some of it is what let's me sway the masses with my opinion.

Wasn't the initial charges for Perjury and obstruction. I know the news said he got out on bail while I was at work CES

Don't shoot the messenger. And like Old Man said, the GOP is big on military intervention, short on responsibility. CES