Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 47.

If you enjoyed this story, and I hope you did, please click here to buy.  Thanks for reading!

On the other side of the gleaming kitchen was a dark living room, with windows wrapping around three quarters of the slightly rounded interior.  Horn owned a view of almost the entire city.  Glittering pillers of light and shadow.  To Freedy, from a small town in Oregon, it looked like a science fiction vista of a future city.

To the left of the kitchen was a corridor that Freedy assumed led to the bedrooms.  Soft carpets and soft lights.  To the right was a small office, rarely used by the look of it.   He padded through the kitchen and closed the door behind him.  He was wearing the black gloves that had been in the bag, and had the knit hat over his head.  He didn't know what good the ski mask would do, but he was ready to use it.  

The wall safe was in plain view, with an old-fashioned spin dial.  Horn hadn't even bothered to cover it with a painting.  The office was all wood and metal.  No books, no paintings, no human touch at all.

"All right, Key," he typed.  "I'm ready for the combination."

"Ah, but I don't have the combination."  Key said it like a punchline, like he'd been saving it for the worst possible moment.

"What do you mean you don't have it?" Freedy wrote, with a sinking feeling.

Somehow he'd known.  This had all been going way too easily.  He waltzed into the lair of a famously paranoid man, and it had seemed almost routine.

"It's a mechanical safe, not digital," Key said, sounding smug even in the writing.  "Probably only Darrell Horn knows the combination."

Freedy felt all the excitement drain from him.  He'd traveled all the way across the country, faced danger after danger, all for this moment.  He'd pretended to be the great Master Thief -- even Sheila seemed to think he had it in him.  Everyone was counting on him.  He himself been so certain he was going to succeed.

And he was completely stymied. By a simple little thing -- an old-fashioned safe.  The kind of safe his Aunt Tessie would probably have found to be a piece of cake.

Freedy was no burglar, no jewel thief, and he certainly wasn't a safe cracker.  He was a small town man, with small town ambitions, and the larceny in his heart was limited to stealing a plant from a neighbor's yard.  Which he knew the neighbor wouldn't mind him taking.  Master Thief-- what a joke!

He flopped into the desk chair and his mind went blank for a few moments.  How long he sat there, he wasn't sure, but his subconscious must have been working on the problem, because when he came back to the present he had a very clear thought.  Horn was just a man -- a very busy man at that.

What would Freedy do, if he had to memorize a combination he rarely used?

His eyes landed on a small replica of the unicorn statue on the corner of the desk near the safe.  He sprang from the chair and turned the unicorn over.  There, written in pencil on cheap masking tape, was a series of numbers.

It didn't take him long to open the safe after that.  The grooves seemed to be already worn into the machine-work.

There was a pile of papers inside about six inches tall.  The deeds to Lorn Mountain were about halfway down.  After a few more minutes of searching, he found the deeds to the Centerville mine, and he took those, too.

There was also a small cloth bag.  Freedy emptied the contents onto his palm.  The precious gems glittered, of all types and sizes and colors -- he didn't know what they all were, but one thing he was sure of -- they were valuable enough to make Aunt Tessie's haul look like, well, a maiden aunt's dowry.

"Take only the deeds," Garland had said.

But here's the thing:  Freedy didn't like Mr. Horn.  Not at all.  Freedy didn't like what Mr. Horn had done to him or to his friends.

He put the bag of gems in his pocket.  It wasn't just for him, he told himself.  The gold miners were going to need a stake.  And beside, didn't Freedy Filkins, international jewel thief, have a reputation to uphold?

There was a ledger in the pile of papers and Freedy opened it out of curiosity.  The list of names and payments went on for pages, and when he saw the titles of those being paid, he whistled a low whistle.   A few moments later he snapped it shut with satisfaction.  This made the whole trip worthwhile, he thought.  This was going to resolve everyone's problems.  Wait until Garland and the others saw this!

He started out the office.   He hadn't gone more than a few steps before a cellphone rang in the dark living room.

Freedy ignored it, except he couldn't help but notice it was the theme song to Darrell Horn's show, "Try Finding A Job After This!"  A show he never watched but which was promoted so relentlessly, he couldn't help hear it.

"Hello?"

Freedy froze.

"How did you get this number?" Horn demanded.  A giant silhouette arose from the shadowy couch, an outline against the starry lights of the city that was famous.  Horn was completely bald, on top an enormous round head.  His upper torso was immense, but he had a very narrow waist.  Most people assumed that he wore a corset.  A million jokes had been made making fun of that silhouette, which seemed to come from a Looney Tunes cartoon.

From what Freedy saw, the narrow waist was natural -- maybe the only natural thing about the tycoon.  Unless, that is, that Horn had a habit of sleeping with a corset, for he was fully clothed in a tuxedo.

"Do you know who I am?" Horn was demanding.

Freedy retreated to the office.  He hadn't even thought to bring a weapon.  It wasn't his style.  His mask was going to be really useful right up to the moment when anyone yanked it off his head.

He typed furiously, 'Why didn't you tell me that Horn was here?'

"You didn't ask."

"What part of the 'Spirit of Not Letting Me Get Caught' don't you understand?"

"...sorry..."

Freedy didn't trust the small letter apology.  He realized he just couldn't trust the Key.  He'd tried to insulate himself from the trickery.

But now he realized that no amount of words, no specificity could cover every possibility.  The Key could always find a loophole, he thought.  If the Key wanted him to get caught, he would probably be caught. 

"Of course I'm a billionaire!" Horn was shouting from the middle of the living room.

There was a pause, as he listened to someone on the other end of the line.

"Well, even if I'm not a real billionaire," Horn followed a few moments later in a slightly lower tone.  
"People think I am and that's what counts..."

Finally, in a completely chastened voice.  "Yes, sir.  Yes I know you could put me out of business.  Forgive me for doubting you... Yes, sir.  What?  The name of my show is "Try Finding a Job After this!  Who me!  Yes, I understand, please forgive me..."

Horn was nearly groveling by now.  Freedy suddenly realized that there was only one person who could have this effect on the famously bombastic tycoon.

He looked down at his iPad and without another word, turned it off.  Let Key stay in its (his)  little flashdrive prison.  No sense letting Key know that his Dark Master was so near.  A simple shout out, "I'm here Master!  I'm right here!"  and it was all over...

"What!" Horn reclaimed his voice. "Are you sure?"

Freedy stood at the door, trying to make sense of the other side of the conversation.

"That's impossible!"  These last words seemed to come from only feet away.

Freedy looked around in a panic.  There was a small closet behind him, and he slipped into it just as the door opened.

Lost a chapter.

Lost a chapter.  Just disappeared.  Spent hours looking for it, which probably only compounded the problem.  (I know some of you will give me advice about how to find it, but I'm pretty sure it's gone...read on...)

It was an important chapter, one of the penultimate chapters, and losing it was totally disheartening.  I'd been writing at a feverish pace and suddenly I stalled.

Late last night I finally sat down to try to reconstruct it.

The first attempt was nowhere near as good as the original chapter, but I kept working on it, and it finally came around.   So even if I found the original chapter, it'd be 50/50 which one I'd use.

I like the freshness of the first drafts, and I kind of want to keep that freshness with a minimal interference -- and not just because I don't like rewriting.

Anyway, the chapter came out fine, and I've moved on.

Today, I'm writing the final chapter(s), and then tonight I want to sit down and read it aloud to myself and try to copyedit as much as possible.

Then -- well, with whatever time I have between now and when I put it up as an ebook, I will be continuing to tinker with it, but I want it up as quick as possible.

After writing this and The Reluctant Wizard it's clear to me that I can't release Nearly Human until I've found a way to put myself into it more.  I have to feel for the characters, for the story.  I think it was just too much mental, and not enough heart.  So I'm going to try once again:  Try to become the main character or one of the major protagonists and write from that point of view so that it all matters to me.

Meanwhile, on to the next book.

The important thing is to keep writing.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 46.

If you enjoyed this story, and I hope you did, please click here to buy.  Thanks for reading!

It took them three hours to reach New York City, and another hour to reach Manhattan.  They hit the morning commute traffic and stalled.

"There's some Ninja clothing for you in back," Garland said, in the midst of a traffic jam.

Freedy looked over the seat and saw a pile of dark clothing.  His "Ninja" outfit consisted of black jeans, and dark tennis shoes, and a dark blue t-shirt, topped by a brown coat.  There was a small backpack, and Freedy looked inside.  Gloves and a small knit cap that turned into a ski mask.  Everything a Ninja burglar needed.

"Put on the clothes," Garland said.

"Here?" Freedy asked, looking around at all the cars.

"No one cares, Freedy.  They've seen it before."

Freedy struggled into the clothes.  They looked casual, something a millionaire might wear on his day off.  He felt completely comfortable in them.

Horn's Spire was visible for miles, even among the city canyons, but getting no closer.  Garland finally swore up a blue storm and pulled into a parking garage.

"We'll get there quicker by subway," he said.

A half hour later they emerged onto the broad plaza in front of the Spire.  The size of the plaza probably impressed Freedy as much as anything -- that with city land being so valuable, the Horn had sequestered a half a city block for his personal glory.

A giant sculpture of a Unicorn dominated the square, and the horn on the Unicorn was curled in just the same number of whirls as the Spire itself, and was iridescent in the morning sun.

The Spire gleamed a shocking white, almost too bright to look at.  If Freedy forced himself, he could see the blues and pinks sprinkled through the marble, following the curves of the giant horn.

Freedy understood his gold miner's friends derision of the giant phallic symbol -- what other sane reaction was there to such massive hubris?  Freedy right then and there decided to call the Spire -- the Dragon.

As in, he was there to slay it.

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until nightfall?" Freedy asked.

"Horn is a night owl," Garland said.  "Or more accurately, he's an all hours of the day and night owl..."

They stopped at the base of the Unicorn and craned their necks upward.  "I've been told by reliable sources that Darrell Horn is out of town.  As well, he tends to stay away on Tuesdays.  So -- no time like the present, right Freedy?"  He looked down at Freedy as if suddenly doubting the whole enterprise.

Freedy didn't blame him.  He didn't know what had possessed Garland to pick him for this job.  He could have had no way of knowing that Freedy was up to it.  He especially couldn't have known that Freedy would literally stumble across the one tool that could possibly help him succeed.

No time like the present?  Any other time but the present, Freedy wanted to say.  He wanted to bolt, run down the steps of the subway entrance and disappear.

But how could he ever show his face in Centerville again?  How could he ever face Sheila?

He gulped.  "Err...just one thing, Garland.  I need to get an iPad, so I can utilize my code-breaking program."

"Easy enough," Garland exclaimed.  There was an Apple store just another block away, and soon Freedy was outfitted with a brand new pad.

They were back to the base of the Unicorn statue in no time.

"My sources tell me there is a wall safe in his bedroom.  Inside, you should find the deeds to Lorn Mountain.  Take nothing else, do you understand?"

Freedy couldn't speak.  He kept swallowing nervously.  What had ever possessed him to take on such a task?  He was totally unsuited for it!

"Well then," Garland suddenly seemed at a loss for words.  "I'll just wait for you," he glanced around the square and saw a Starbucks in one corner.  "I wait for you over there..."

Freedy turned toward the Spire, feeling a little like a bug beneath a mountain.  He couldn't even take it all in.

"Good luck, Freedy!" Garland said heartily.  He walked away without looking back.


As soon as Garland was out of sight, Freedy took out the Key and plugged it in.

"Well, well.  New York, New York!" the machine cheeriness of Key spoke.

"I'm going to need you to not speak," Freedy said.  "Text, from now on."

"If you insist," Key pouted, out loud, and then continued onscreen.  "What are we doing here?"

"We are going to break into Darrell Horn's penthouse and steal back the deeds to Lorn Mountain," Freedy typed.  "I need you to help me do that."

"What fun!" Key said.  "It won't be easy -- you'll have to be physically present to open some of routes.  Horn has guards all over the place."

"Can you send them off?"

"That would be suspicious, don't you think?  The trick will be to put the guards where you aren't and put you where the guards aren't."

Freedy took a deep breath.  Time to slay the dragon -- or get eaten.

He started walking slowly, casually toward the entrance.  Then he decided that looked suspicious and started walking more firmly, purposely, like a businessman on a mission.

There were a trio of guards at the front desk; not the slovenly rent-a-cops that most buildings had.  No, these guys looked like former Navy Seals or something.  They stared at him suspiciously, which made Freedy nervous for a moment.  Then he realized they stared at everyone suspiciously.

They checked a computer list of allowed visitors, and Freedy popped up right away.  There was even a picture of him in his current clothing.  How had Key managed that?  Just what couldn't the Key do?

Freedy walked past the guards as if they were beneath him, and sauntered over to the bank of elevators.

"Now what?"

"Horn's private elevator is on the far left," Key texted.  "If you are found inside that, there is nothing I could do to explain it away.  We'll avoid it until the last minute.  Take the middle one -- the one labelled "Observation Platform."

Freedy squeezed his way in with a gaggle of squealing teenage girls.  'Why aren't you in school?' he wanted to ask.  He was turning into a grumpy old man, he thought.  He thought of Sheila at that moment and relaxed.  Let the young girls have their fun, he thought.

The minute the thought passed his brain, it was as if the young girls decided he was all right, and they tried to include him in their conversation.  Freedy joined in the excitement.  'No,' he'd never been there either.  'Yes,' it was a very cool building.

He decided to use the girls as cover, and to stay near them as long as possible -- as long as it didn't creep them out.

They had to change elevators twice to finally reach the viewing level.  The girls let out little screams when they saw the transparent deck, and Freedy almost joined them.  He followed their ginger emergence onto the platform.

"Now what?" Freedy asked Key.

"Now you've done all the easy parts..."

"Do you mind not being so chatty?" Freedy typed in.  "Now what?"

"Just having fun," Key said.  "Sheesh.  O.K.  Horn's penthouse is just above us, and there are only two entrances.  The first is the private elevator, which is observed by several different guards stations.  There is no way I can distract them all.  The second is a service corridor his servant use to come and go without notice.  I have sent all the servants away for the next hour.  No one will notice that.

"You need to go back into the inside corridor."

Inside, there were a couple fast food restaurants and souvenir stores.  There were two restrooms and in between was a simple, unadorned, discreet door with a very big keypad.  Freedy walked over to it.

"3-h-7-x-3-Z."

Freedy started to press the numbers.  "3-H-..."

"NO!" Key said.  "Lower case H.  Try to get it right!'

Suddenly Freedy was unaccountably nervous.  He'd been running on autopilot pretty much, just following Key's instructions.  The first time he had to do something himself, he was messing it up!

"3-h-7-z..." No, that wasn't right.

"Freedy!  This pad will notify the guards if you get it wrong one more time!"

Freedy's hands started sweating.

"Don't be nervous!" Key wrote.  "But don't get it wrong!"

Gee, thanks a lot, Freedy thought.  That really helps.  But his angry response did seem to calm him slightly.  He was going to take all the time in the world to do it right this time.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he heard a voice.  "Who are you?"

Freedy looked around and saw one of the 'special forces' guards approaching.

Freedy looked down at the pad in a panic.  "Survey," Key said.

"Survey," Freedy said out loud. Freedy didn't lift his head from the screen and frowned, as if he was too busy to spend time talking to a guard.
 
"What kind of survey?  No one told me about a survey."

"A tech survey," Freedy read and said aloud.  "You can check."

The guard moved off a few feet, keeping his eyes on Freedy, and spoke into a cellphone.  Freedy could see him relax.

There was a loud squeal from the teenage girls on the deck that immediately caught the guard's attention.  Freedy could see his eyes light up.

"All right," the guard said, walking away toward the girls. "Keep doing whatever it was you were doing..."

Freedy was barely conscious of punching in the keypad numbers and miraculously got them right.  The heavy door closed behind him.  A series of broad concrete steps went upward.  He leaned against the door.  His knees nearly gave out on him, and he closed he eyes until he got his breath back.  How long hadn't he been breathing?  This International Jewel Thief thing really wasn't him, he thought.  He was more a small town fellow.

"I thought you were going to keep me where the guards weren't..." he said, aloud.

"Hey," Key answered, also verbally.  "I can't help it if humans do weird, unpredictable things!"

Freedy crept up the steps.  With a deep breath, he opened the door at the top.

It was dark other side.  He felt around blindly on both sides of the door and found a switch.  It was the back of a very shiny kitchen.  Chrome gleamed off everything, even the counters.  It didn't look like it was ever used.

He was in.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 45.

If you enjoyed this story, and I hope you did, please click here to buy.  Thanks for reading!

It wasn't a dream.  She was still in his arms in the morning.  They were both clothed and she was snoring in a very unladylike way, but it felt like heaven.  He just stayed in the position for what seemed hours as his arm went to sleep, and pressure to go to the bathroom grew and grew.

Finally, there was knock on the door and Sheila stirred and looked up at him and smiled.

Another, louder knock, and she said, "You going to get that?"

"Do I have to?"

He got up and there at the door was Garland, smiling.

"Sorry to wake you two lovebirds, but there is a community meeting in an hour.  You ought to be there."

Freedy felt so relieved to see the old hippie that he almost hugged him.  Garland backed away, holding up his hand. "Wow, there Freedy.  Glad to see you, too."

He walked away, laughing.

They took turns showering.  Someone had left some clothes on the chairs by the door.  From the looks of it, Freedy was wearing something that Billy or Bob would wear.  He realized that sometime during the trip, his little pot belly had disappeared.  He went to the mirror and saw a man he didn't recognize.  Not a boy, a man.  Chiseled cheeks, not plumb ones.  A serious look to the eyes, instead of a perpetually puzzled one.  When had that happened?

He put on the Levi's and the green stripped flannel shirt and suspenders with a feeling of belonging.

Sheila wore a peasant blouse and a denim skirt, and she looked anything but the tough F.B.I. agent.  She was still a little shy about dressing in front of him, and he'd gone off the breakfast room to grab some bagels.

"You ever been here before?" he asked, when he came back.

"As a matter of fact, I have," she said.  "This is probably the most volatile union versus anti-union territory in the country.  Darrell Horn has done just about everything he can to stamp down on unions, while the unions have responded by being a little more aggressive than usual.  It's almost like the bad old days."

"How does he keep the unions from coming in?" Freedy asked.

"By every means necessary," she said.  "Legal or illegal.  But he's been extraordinarily sneaky in his union busting activities.  So far, he's winning.  Somehow he's managed to keep the coal mine with the worst safety record in the industry a non-union mine.  When Charlie and the boys showed up here trying to recruit miners for their gold mine, Horn somehow, well, hornswaggled the mineral rights away from them.  They didn't respond well.  Did some sabotage to the equipment Horn sent to Lorn Mountain."

"So you knew about Charlie and the Lorn Mountain situation before we met you?" 

"I'm sympathetic to Charlie and the boys," she said.  "But the law is on the side of Darrell Horn Mining.  Which reminds me, I need to check in."

She pulled the Barbie phone from her previous day's clothes and turned her back to him.  She put her finger to her ear and walked over to the corner.  She talked for about five minutes.  When she turned back with a smile, she saw the look on his face.

"Oh, Freedy!  Don't worry, I didn't say anything about what's happened.  As far as I'm concerned, we've broken no laws -- well, besides a little shoplifting and I left an extra twenty at the counter."

He relaxed, and she came over and gave him a hug.

"Amazingly, I'm still assigned to you guys.  I don't understand it."

So the Key was at least keeping Its word about that, Freedy thought.

They wandered out the door, and saw some of the others making their way to the conference room.  They followed.

The room was packed.  It looked like the whole town might have been there. Hundreds of people.

Charlie was sitting on the dias with half a dozen other tough looking men.  Miners, Freedy presumed.  It was a company town and the company was coal mining.  Garland was sitting at the end of the dias, both part of the group and somehow giving off the feeling that he was not part of it.

 Freedy and Sheila stood at the back, not quite feeling part of the crowd.

A big man rose to the lectern.  He was broad in the chest with heavy features.  He looked like a coal miner, Freedy thought.  If you looked up coal miner in the dictionary, this is the picture you'd get.

"That's Jerry Brant," Sheila whispered.   "He's the foreman of the mine.  If this place functions at all, it's because of him.  He's against unions for reasons no one quite understands.  But he's a fair and honorable man, and if his men voted to unionize, he'd go along.  Unfortunately, they like him so much, they follow his wishes."

"I call this meeting to order," Brant said.  "Charlie Emmit has returned with some news and I thought we should hear him out."

Charlie got up, looking small next to the giant foreman, but still seeming as formidable.

"As you know, we lost our mineral rights to the Lorn Mountain mine after we tried to hire some of you away.  We've gained them back, so we'd like to repeat the offer."

"Do you own the deed to the land?" someone shouted out.  "We've heard you don't even own it."

As Freedy had learned, Charlie was incapable of lying.  He flushed a bright red.  "My family has lived on that mountain for a hundred years.  We've always owned it.  We'll prove it soon enough."

Brant stood up again.  "If you'd like to join up with Charlie and his boys, they'll be waiting in the back.  It's a union operation, I'm warning you."

"When do we go back to work?" someone else shouted out.

"As you know, some irregularities have been reported in the equipment maintenance, and until that is cleared up, I'd like to ask your patience.  I'm not opening the mine until I'm sure it's safe."

"Wouldn't happen if we had a union!" someone shouted.

"And it's not happening now," Brant said.  "And it won't happen as long as I'm here."

That quieted down the crowd.  Sheila whispered to Freedy.  "Horn puts up with Brant's standards because he knows that if the big man ever became pro-union, it would happen overnight."

"I wonder how Horn keeps him in line..." Freedy mused.

"Oh, Brant would never stand for coercion," Sheila said, sounding surprised.  "No, it's some deep-seated belief that defies all rational explanation."


The meeting broke up and Garland made his way over to him.  "I'm sorry, Agent Moller," he said.  "I need to borrow Freedy for awhile."

"Sure!" she said.  "See you back in the hotel room, Freedy."  She walked away, and both men watched her with appreciation.

"Hell of a woman," Garland said.  "Now...Freedy.  We're going to have that talk."

As they walked to the diner, Freedy wondered what to say.

Once again, he wanted to keep the Key to himself.  He'd shown that he knew how to use it, after all.  He'd saved their bacon a couple of times now.  He was damned if he was just going to hand it over now.

Steve and Sam came roaring up on their Harleys and they waved cheerily as they passed.  Apparently, they'd returned the Price-Ceiling parking lot in the middle of the night retrieved their bikes.



Freedy and Garland sat in the diner, silent.  Staring at each other.

"O.K. Freedy, out with it."

"Out with what?" he asked.

"Whatever it is you're hiding.  Don't even try.  I'll know."

Freedy told the story of his encounter with the man under the data center, only he didn't name him.  He also soft-pedaled the flashdrive.  "It allows me to break passwords really fast," was all Freedy said.

Garland seemed to sense he was holding something back, but he was also obviously preoccupied.  "Well, it sounds like a nifty tool.  You'll need it."

"What?"

"Why, Freedy. You still haven't done what we hired you to do.  In the morning, we are heading for New York City.  There you will break into the Horn Spire penthouse and steal the property deeds to Lorn Mountain."

"I will?"  Freedy was amazed that Garland thought he could do such a thing.  But at the same time, he felt the pressure of the Key against his leg.  Maybe, perhaps, it was just possible he could pull it off.

"After all the things Charlie has told me you've done on this trip," Garland said.  "I have complete confidence in you."

Freedy felt himself excited by the challenge.  What an odd reaction!  Who'd have ever thought it?

 The only reason he was less than thrilled was because he knew he'd have to leave Sheila behind, and he'd have to lie to her about why.


 Sheila was waiting for him back at the motel, and they spent the rest of the day together.  They wandered around the small town hand in hand, and everyone smiled at them.

The town was pretty evenly split between union and non-union activists, and there had been tension in the past, but for now the acrimony was simmering below the surface.  Besides, there was no difference in the universal appeal of the newly in love.  Everyone was friendly to them.

The town was very small, and after a lunch in the diner, they walked out toward the slag heaps on the edge of town.  A huge hole had been dug into a mountain, or what had once been a mountain and was now more a hill with it top lopped off.

The ugliness reminded Freedy of the clear cutting of forests back in his native Oregon, and how it had seemed a crime against nature.

"You can't judge them, Freedy.  It's how they make their living."

Freedy wasn't judging.  It all looked like it belonged, somehow.  Everything in the world was where it should be and how it should be.  Because the world had given him Sheila, though he didn't deserve it, though he hadn't been looking for it.

They walked out into the surrounding woods.  They could have gone back to the motel, Freedy thought.  It might have been more comfortable.  But there, under a huge tree that had somehow escaped being cut, they laid down and came together.

It was so natural, so comfortable, so pleasurable that Freedy knew he'd never be the same.  Whatever happened now, he had just had the peak experience of his life.  The waiting, the misunderstandings, the difficulties -- all were washed away in a wave of rightness.

Later, they walked back into town, and if anything the smiles on the passersby grew even broader.  It was as if everyone could tell, and both Sheila and Freedy looked away from their glances shyly.

The world was a different place.  Freedy wished he could just stay with Sheila, but he also knew that their coming together had only happened because of the chances he had taken on this trip.  If he'd stayed in the miserable comfort of Filk's End, he never would have met her.

He couldn't renege on his agreement with Garland and Charlie and the others.  If he did, he wasn't the man Sheila thought he was.

They went back to the motel for the night -- and yes, the beds were more comfortable and the union was just as pleasurable, but the memory of that huge tree towering over them would always be with him.

At about four o:clock in the morning, he disentangled himself gently and got dressed.

Garland was waiting by the Miata.  Freedy got in without a word and they drove out of town.

Need more Bulletin Fodder!

How am I supposed to write a daily blog without Bulletin Fodder?

It doesn't look like they've gone to the two section Monday yet, and I'm not looking forward to it.  I want to Bulletin to do well for selfish reasons, as well as for the fact that I like all the reporters I know who work there.

**********

I was trying to get Linda back into writing from the moment I got serious again about a year and a half ago.  We met in the writer's group 30 years ago, and we've both been literary minded ever since.

She started looking at a book that she'd gotten far into, and decided she still really liked it.  So I've been waking up every morning seeing her at her computer.

She told me yesterday from her Writing Trip that she had finished her book!  And was starting in on the next one --

It's the second time she's actually finished (she wrote a romance that she wasn't quite satisfied with the ending.)

I want to read it, but I want her to keep writing first.  She has stalled in the past from critique from writer's group and I've encouraged her to keep it to herself for now.

Anyway, we both have websites to our names which we need to develop, and get our stuff out there.

I'll be exploring how it works with Freedy Filkins.

**********

Dropped in on the writer's group Christmas Party yesterday.  I was so into writing and with Linda gone, I hadn't intended to go, but I decided that was rude and popped my head in the door.

Told them my plans.  Nothing more bracing than seeing the skeptical look on the face of one guy I respect.  And when I told them the title to my book, there was a silence.  Well, that went over well, I thought to myself.

Anyway, I stayed for a little cider and some carrots, and then when everybody had settled down, vamoosed out of there.   "Back to writing!" I said cheerily on my way out the door.

**********

I estimated yesterday that I had about seven chapters left to write on Freedy Filkins, broken into about two chapters per incident with a concluding chapter.  So the first incident turned into three chapters, and I suspect the others will turn into longer as well

But I'm at the concluding chapters now -- the climax.  Trying to gear up for what will hopefully be an exciting climax. 

I have a Donald Trump like character -- who I call Darrell Horn -- as my Smaug the Dragon.  Heh.

This book sort of wrote itself -- like it was just waiting for me.

I wrote a chapter the other day which just tickled me.  Which is the best way to get over my rejection, I think.  It might not be any better than any of the rest, but it was so unexpected and came together so easily that it made me high. 

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 44.

If you enjoyed this story, and I hope you did, please click here to buy.  Thanks for reading!

The guards had rushed to the window, and from the shouts of discovery, found the ripped sleeve from Freedy's shirt as he as hoped they would.  He heard them rush out the back and started to relax.  And then they were back in again, and back out, and then back in again.  All the while shouting.

The gold miners and Freedy kept quiet through it all.

Jim was quivering, and finally Freedy reached out and gave him a hug.  "The air is just inches away," he whispered.  "Imagine the sun, the light and the breeze."

His barrel-mate finally stopped shivering, and a few minutes later he surprised Freedy with a loud snore.  Freedly reluctantly elbowed him awake.

A good hour later, the warehouse workers were let into the storeroom and they heard heavy lifting and loading going on around them. Finally, Freedy felt his own barrel tipped.

"Are you sure these are supposed to be empty?" The worker complained. 

"Hey, they're oak slates with black steel hoops. The very best."

"Yeah, you and your damn beer."

"Makes the beer taste better."

"Yeah, well that's just stupid."  To Freedy and Jim surprise, the barrel was turned on its side and rolled into the truck.  "Oomph," Jim said, every time Freedy landed on him.  "Oomph."

 For his part, Freedy was too crushed by Jim to make any noise.

They were tipped back upright, but upside down.  "Shh!" Freedy whispered to Jim as the big man began to whimper.  But there was so much racket going on around them, no one heard them.  Finally they heard the big doors to the truck slammed shut, and if it was possible, it was even darker.

"Get me out," Jim started to whimper.  "Get me out."

Freedy managed to wiggle his way toward the top and pushed up.  There was something heavy on top of them.

"Get me out!" Jim started yelling, while Freedy tried shushing him.  Finally, after about five minutes, they heard something being shifted above them and the top came off.  Charlie was frowning down at them.

"Shut up, Jim.  They haven't started the truck yet.  They might still hear us."

Jim was fine after he scrambled up past Freedy and tipped over the side the barrel. He sprawled on the floor breathing deeply.

Freedy understood how he felt.  He hadn't realized until Charlie opened the lid and let some air in that he'd been stifling.  He had a splitting headache, but whether from Jim's bulk or the lack of air or both, he couldn't tell.

Moment's later, the truck started moving.

They had apparently barely missed being buried in the back of the truck, but fortunately the load over Charlie's barrel had fallen off.  A few minutes later they were all free.

The truck was almost full, but there was just enough room to crawl around.  Freedy scrambled over some boxes and cans to the back door.  There was a small crack along the bottom of the back doors and he was relieved to see the yellow van following, with Sheila grim but beautiful at the wheel.

"Well, hurrah for Freedy" Billy said.  "This is at least the third time he's save us.  We're going to have to give him a bigger share."

There was a moment of silence, and then they all said at once,  "Nah...." "No way!'  "He's just doing his job!"

They sat in companionable silence for awhile.

"This isn't a refrigerator truck is it?" Billy said.  The skinniest of them, he felt it first.

"Sure feels like it," Bob agreed.

"Don't worry, we'll get out at the first rest stop," Freedy assured them.

Two hours later, the truck shifted down, and then turned abruptly, whining to a stop.  A big release of air pressure from the brakes, and then silence.  Freedy looked out through the small crack and saw the driver heading to the restrooms.

"Now!" he said, when he saw the man disappear.

It was no use.  The door was secured from the outside, and there was no safety latch on the inside.

 "That's illegal!" Steve muttered, sounding offended.

The irony was, in the end, they all went back to the barrels after knocking some air holes in the top.  It was a lot warmer inside the enclosed space.  All but Jim, who shivered and nearly turned blue, but refused to get back in.  He rummaged around, and finally threw some loose cardboard on top of himself.

They were lucky in the end that Price-Ceiling was so hard on its workers, because the driver made the entire trip in eighteen hours without stopping for more than a few short periods.  Finally, the driver parked behind the store in Centerville, Pennsylvania and walked away for a well-earned rest.

About five minutes later, Sheila had managed to open the back door, using a wrench to break the lock.

She looked in worriedly, and Freedy nearly fell into her arms coming out the back.

"You all right?"

Freedy didn't answer, but just kept hugging her.  The whole trip he'd been dreaming about this.  He didn't care anymore that she was a cop and might arrest him at any moment.  He would gladly follow her anywhere, even in handcuffs.

She murmured a soft sound, a reassuring sound that only a woman in love can make, and he nearly broke into tears.

"Where are we?" Freedy finally asked.

"Our home base, Freedy," Charlie said, clapping him on the back.  "Welcome to Centerville, Pennsylvania, the non-union coal mining pit of the world."


The miners knew all the open bars and the best motels in town, and they were quickly settled in.

Freedy stayed with Sheila, for some reason not feeling tired at all.  They held hands as they walked to the motel room, and when the door was locked they fell into bed.

Freedy fell asleep with Sheila in his arms.  'I should do something about this," he thought drowsily.  And then he was out.

Freedy Filkins, International Jewel Thief, 43.

If you enjoyed this story, and I hope you did, please click here to buy.  Thanks for reading!

"You've created quite the fuss among your enemies, Freedy," Key said, not even waiting for Freedy to say something.  He was on speaker, though Freedy hadn't specified that.

"What the...?" Sheila exclaimed.  "Who's this?"

"This is my friend, Mr. Key.  He's helping me, aren't you Mr. Key?"

"Charmed to meet you, Special Agent Sheila Moller," Key said, agreeably.  "I've heard so much about you."

Freedy put his fingers to his lips when Sheila looked ready to ask more.

"Our friends are captured inside the Price-Ceiling store in Hopperville, Arkansas and I need to know which storeroom."

"That would be Storage Unit G." Key answered.

Freedy started up the van, realizing that he just hadn't driven far enough.  The letter on the dock next to them read "D."

They were just coming around the backs of trucks when he saw the guards.  He stopped and backed out of sight again.

"Did you count them?" he asked Sheila.

"There are two guards on the outside of both the front and back doors, and two guards inside." Key answered instead.

"How does he know that?" Sheila whispered.

Freedy happened to look behind him, and saw a patrol armed guards walking  the outer perimeter of the parking lot.  He edged the van into between some of the giant parked trucks as far in as he could squeeze.

"How many guards are searching for us altogether?"

"Forty-five," Key said.

There was silence in the van as Freedy and Sheila realized what they were up against.
Freedy thought for a moment about ordering all the guards away, but it occurred to to him that among those forty-five were the supervisors, the people giving orders -- including the Grandma from hell.

He might be able to get in by foot, alone, but beyond that he didn't have a clue about how he'd be able to get the entire crew out of there without being discovered.  The fewer orders he gave, the better chance he probably had.

"Can you order the guards out of the room on some pretext?" Freedy asked.

"I can order them out, but they would run to their supervisors soon enough," Key said.  Freedy noticed the Key wasn't making any suggestions about how to get out of this dilemma.  Perhaps, as a program,  It couldn't.  No, that wasn't right.  The Key was self-aware, It could help if It wanted to.  But after Freedy's experience with the bounty hunters, Freedy didn't trust the Key.

No, the only way to use Key was to give it specific and limited instructions, and preferably instructions so clear and simple that they couldn't be be warped or misconstrued.

"Show me the contents of the storage unit," he asked, getting an idea.

"Do you want inventory lists or pictures from inside?"

"Let's start with the lists," Freedy said.

The contents of the warehouse quickly popped up and started scrolling by.

"Slow down!" Freed commanded.   There, just as the scroll suddenly slowed to a crawl he saw what he wanted. "Show me the inside of the room..."

Key scanned the warehouse.  There!  Freedy immediately saw what he wanted.  Now came the really hard part.  Explaining the Sheila.

"My friend Mr. Key is just the most amazing computer whiz you've ever heard of," Freedy said. Which was true, after all.  That fact that the computer whiz was a computer didn't detract from that.

"I can see that," Sheila said.  She could tell something was wrong, probably, but couldn't quite put her finger on it.  "Why have you been keeping him a secret?"

"I wasn't sure about Garland and the others," Freedy said.  "Mr. Key only likes dealing with me, isn't that right, Mr. Key?"

"If you say so," Key said.

Freedy stopped himself from cursing.  "Always a kidder..." he muttered.

"You always liked my kidding before," Key said.

Again, Sheila frowned.  Maybe the Turing Test was still valid after all, because she seemed to sense there was something not quite right about Mr. Key.

"I'm going to have Mr. Key order away the guards inside and at the back exit.  Then, as quickly as possible, I'm going to try to free our guys and get out of there.  Have the van ready to go."

"Freedy," Sheila reached out and grabbed his arm.  "Are you sure about this?  They've only been charged with misdemeanors.  They'd probably be let go by tomorrow morning anyway."

"Remember, there are others looking for them," Freedy said.  "I don't believe they just happened to be spotted and arrested.  I thinking they were waiting for us."

Sheila agreed, he could tell.  But she didn't know about Key, only that he was a computer whiz and far away and a thin reed to hang their plans on.

"Trust me, Sheila," Freedy said.  "I know what I'm doing."

She stared into his eyes, and no doubt saw the fear in Freedy's eyes -- but she also must have seen the strange confidence that came from having an all-powerful, self-aware -- if treacherous -- computer program helping him.

"All right.  The guards made their circuit a couple of minutes again, you should be clear for about five minutes."  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.    "Hurry, Freedy.  Come back to me."

Freedy jumped out and ran toward the dock.  He could still feel her soft lips on his cheek.  It energized him.

Outside the doors, he stopped.  "O.K., Key -- here's what we are going to do if we can't make a clean escape."

Freedy gave a series of rapid and specific instructions.

"You got that?" he said at the end.

"That's is pretty crazy, Freedy," Key said.  "But yes, I understand you."

Very well, Freedy breathed.  Time for the great escape.

 "Open the bomb-bay door, Hal!" he shouted into the Hello Kitty phone and unlike the movie computer, this computer obeyed.  The sliding door started ratcheting up.  He ran into the room and immediately saw his friends trussed up but not hooded and gagged.

"Holy Moly!" Jay said.  "Do you guys see who I see?"

"Master Thief indeed," Charlie said, looking pleased.

Freedy had his pocket knife out and was cutting at the plastic ties in seconds.  Good thing no one used old fashioned handcuffs anymore.  He would have been screwed.  He was getting pretty good at this.  They were free in less than a minute.

"Let's get out of here!"

It was too late.  There was banging on the front door of the storeroom and not seconds later banging on the back doors.  They were trapped.  Freedy realized that he hadn't given instructions to Key to lock the door behind him.  The Key had apparently thought of that Itself.  Perhaps the Program was trying to help after all.

"Thanks for locking the doors, Key," he said, aloud.

"Hey, I'm enjoying your shenanigans.  But I'm wondering if you're going to get out of this one."

"Who you talking to?" Charlie asked, confused.

Freedy saw a window at the far end of the room, ran over and opened it.  Just barely big enough for most of them, and probably too small for Jim, actually.   About a twenty foot drop to the ground.  Not impossible, but pretty scary.  It was also visible from every direction.  He left the window open.  His clothes were so ratty by now, he easily tore off a section of his sleeve and shoved it into the grooves of the window ledge.

"Well, nice try, Freedy," Charlie said, looking resigned.   "I'd be impressed if I wasn't afraid we're about to have our heads beaten in for trying to escape. You may have just made it worse."

"Time for Plan B," Freedy said, sounding more confident than he sounded.   He got on his Hello, Kitty phone, calling the only number on his list.

"Get out of the parking lot, Sheila.  Now.  Wait at the eastern outskirts of town.  At about 4:30 this afternoon, a truck with the serial number STW421 will pass you.  Follow it to it's destination."

"What's going on," Sheila said, sharply.

"No time to explain."  Freedy turned off the phone.  He took out the Key.  After a moment's thought, he removed the battery.

Along the back wall there were seven huge beer barrels.  They'd been used recently in a local beerfest and were scheduled to be sent back to Milwaukee.  Freedy had rescheduled them for Centerville, Pennsylvania instead.

He opened the lid of one of them, and an odor of days old beer wafted out.  He recoiled.  Oh, well.   No help for it.

"Your chariots await!" he shouted at the others, pulling the lids off one by one.  "Hop in!"

"I'm not getting in one of those!" Jim said, and Freedy remembered too late that the big miner was afraid of enclosed spaces -- which was quite a handicap for a miner to have.  Fortunately there were enough jobs outside the mines to keep him busy.  Now he was sweating profusely and his eyes were wide.

As the banging grew louder, the other miners ran to barrels and one by one plopped in.  Freedy pounded down the lids securely behind them.

Fat Jim approached last, and looked at Freedy.  "There's only seven barrels and eight of us," he said.
Freedy hadn't thought of that.  There wasn't time to rearrange.  It would've made more sense to have Steve and Sam share a barrel, for instance, instead of chubby Freedy and even chubbier Jim.

But there was no help for it.  The banging outside the doors suddenly stopped.  Oh, oh.  The guards with tools to open doors were either on their way or already there.

"No time to argue, dammit," Freedy said.  "Jump in!"

Eyes wide in panic, Jim got in, and Freedy gingerly lowered himself into the last little bit of space.  They barely lowered the lid before they heard the doors opening.