Accept the invitation to become intangled in the situations of the characters of several genres.
Have you ever been confronted by a managerial barracuda?
Have you thought about future teens who need an inner racial upgrade to get an education?
Now that you are a hundred years old; old people like you have to pay more property taxes or you might be homeless. What do you do?
Everybody has dozed at the wheel, but when you awake you have unwanted company.
You have been visited by a former associate of questionable character whose presence could threaten your future. What is the plan to stop him?
The lack of an educated younger generation and the incentive to achieve a higher standard of living, the result could be: the elderly fall prey after dark to the young.
Just think after a life of entanglements you awake to surgeon standing over you.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.39(d)|
Read an Excerpt
By E.B. Burbridge
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2013E.B. Burbridge
All rights reserved.
THE TALKING BARRACUDA
DISCRETION APPLIED PRIVILEGE PRESERVED.
Harris placed the plaque back in position. "Only our illustrious executive Davis could think of a riddle like that." He shook his head and looked around the office. "Look at this set-up. The walls are red and everything else has got red in it. Is she the devil or what? The furniture is arranged in front of the window so everyone on the workroom floor sees you, but all they see is the back of her chair. Remember, her words; she doesn't have an open door policy? In other words, "screw you."
"No, I don't." Smith said and dabbed sweat off his face. Obesity and alcohol had taken its toll over the years.
Harris cut his eyes at Smith. "What happened to you Smith? You used to lead us in prayer on break. Those words of inspiration made some people's day. Then you go over to the dark side." Smith sat, expressionless. "Anyway, you really think the barracuda will flip a union steward, who betrays his own people, to a level one supervisor?"
"I'm qualified and connected," Smith said, confident. "And, I didn't betray anybody."
"That's a pipe dream. Boy, are you ... stupid." Harris chuckled.
"Don't laugh. That dog incident didn't die. You insulted a prominent customer's dog. They still want to burn you."
"I apologized to the lady and she accepted, in writing. If she's still upset, so what, I'm a mailman not an animal rights advocate. She needs to stop feeding that four-legged crap factory Fido fiber. That mutt's poop is all over the sidewalk. Is that why I'm in here?" Smith looked straight ahead an avoided eye contact. "I know what it is. You two are still upset about the last time you tried to suspend me. Harris shook his head. How do you change scheduled absences to unscheduled to secure a suspension? The system automatically flags it. That was dumb." Harris laughed. "She got reprimanded and you almost lost your stewardship."
Smith cleared his throat and focused his eyes on Harris with laser like intensity. "That's none of your business," he hissed and then smiled. "Davis is headed this way."
Good. Harris laid an envelope on her desk. Smith glanced at it and wiped his forehead.
* * *
Executive Camille Davis Ph.D. frowned when she licked her blistered lips. It tingled when she smiled and revealed the gaps between her pointed teeth. Her bony fingers crept through files in the cabinet like a spider approaching its prey, while she waited for the copier to finish. She glanced at her distorted reflection in the office's glass partition and adjusted her blue leather pants suit that clung to her curve less frame. Camille fluffed her freshly permed hair, trying to enhance her elongated face and bulging eyes that earned her the nickname barracuda. Pleased, she snatched the documents out of the machine. She studied them and they were perfect.
Camille stepped onto the workroom floor and walked toward the center. She ignored all greetings while she inspected hand trucks of mail. She insisted Central Station Post Office needed a makeover. In spite of objections, her open floor plan eliminated rows of cases and lined them on the perimeter. Supervisor's offices were converted to storage space and relocated to the center. She stopped short of their desk, stood and cut her eyes in their direction. They shuffled papers and started playing with their computers. Unnecessary movement slowed, vibrant conversation became whispers and then; virtual silence. Camille remained silent and continued to her office.
Camille pushed open the door and sat at her computer and shot Harris a dirty look. She couldn't stand them, but she tolerated Smith. Harris reminded her of their mailman in the housing projects, tall, thin and balding. He came early on check day. And took her mom in the bedroom where they laughed and made strange noises. When she got older she understood. One day she overheard him tell his friends, "Women in the projects were all hips and butt with no brains." And from that day on education was priority one. When she graduated she returned to mentor, almost becoming an obsession, her fellow impoverished females to prove that myth a lie.
"Good morning, Dr. Davis," Smith said.
"Hello." Camille tossed the file across the oversized desk toward Smith.
"Show Mr. Harris that," she ordered.
"What's this?" Harris reached over and grabbed the file before Smith touched it.
Harris read and caught a glimpse of some carriers looking toward the office. "I don't understand. This is a removal request for undelivered mail without authorization."
Camille sighed and smiled. The bags under her fishy eyes tightened. "Mr. Harris, you brought back mail. You can read, can't you?"
"I called Mr. Porter to get authorization for double time and it was denied. He told me to come back and fill out a report of undelivered mail form, which I did and he signed it. He didn't tell you?"
"If he did you wouldn't be sitting here," Camille snapped. Smith covered his mouth and suppressed his laughter.
"Where's Mr. Porter? He'll tell you."
"Porter's on vacation."
"Well, call him." Harris said.
"Don't tell me what to do." Camille raised her voice and then quickly relaxed.
Harris slammed his hand on the write-up. "This was three weeks ago. I followed instructions, ask Porter."
"As executive I have the final say." Camille looked at Smith. "I think the union will concur. Right, Mr. Smith?"
Smith coughed and his rolls of fat fluttered like jell-O. "Yes, Dr. Davis."
He looked at Harris. You didn't finish, that ties our hands.
"That means I'm on my own."
"Yes it does." They giggled and Camille looked at her computer.
"So why is yes man sitting here?" Harris pointed at Smith.
"SOP. You do know what that is?"
"Standard Operating Procedure."
"Um, I'm surprised." Camille continued to look at the screen.
Harris clenched his fist until his fingers hurt. "Dr. Davis?"
"What?" Camille turned from her computer.
"My word should be good enough until Mr. Porter returns." Camille laughed. Her cackle made his skin crawl. She arched her back and leaned forward and folded her hands on the desk. "A letter carrier's word is meaningless. You made the decision."
"It was an instruction," Harris interrupted.
Camille looked disgusted. "I don't care, Harris. Don't you get it? My job is to rid this station of carriers of your ilk." Her lips twisted like she just tasted something sour. "Right, Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, Dr. Davis," Smith replied, as if ordered.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Harris. You do know what ilk means?"
"I don't have to take the insults." Harris frowned.
"Don't like it, call EEO." Camille leaned back in her chair. "Carriers like you are killing my budget. You use tons of overtime. I've got people worth my time to mentor, not waiting around all night for carriers."
"Look at all the new growth. There's high rises going up on every block plus townhouse complexes."
"So work around it. Adapt."
"We did. It's called overtime," Harris countered.
Camille stared for a moment. "My supervisors and I have canvassed the neighborhood about the service. And, nothing has been said about you minus that dog incident."
"I've never heard of management soliciting complaints. Was that wise?" Harris asked and smiled.
"We were not soliciting, Mr. Harris." Camille frowned. "I contemplate all my decisions. You should try it sometimes, Mr. Harris."
"Certainly, Dr. Davis." Harri
Excerpted from CONSOLIDATED SEPARATES by E.B. Burbridge. Copyright © 2013 by E.B. Burbridge. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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Table of Contents
The Talking Barracuda.................... 1
Soul Fuel 100.................... 39
Sanctified Bookend.................... 48
Not This Time.................... 51
Revenge With Sausage And Pepperoni.................... 53
Good Writer.................... 59
Bell Ringer.................... 64
Ten Percent.................... 67
Double Is Retired.................... 76
Toenails & Zombies.................... 87
No Respect.................... 95
Time Capsule.................... 99
Blind Sided.................... 152
Wiggle In The Grass.................... 173
About the Author.................... 175