Today was Silent Auction day at my Unitarian Universalist fellowship. I scored a lot of great social events with my friends from there, and a cute little antique table. Oh, and the minister won the silent auction items I offered–copies of my three books. Uh oh. Do the Unitarians excommunicate you?

This afternoon I passed the 80,000-word mark on the word count–woo hoo–by writing 2,882 words. Not the best word count this month, but the stack of dirty laundry has demanded to be put through the washer, the clean dishes insisted upon being put away, and the toilets have indicated that if they don’t get cleaned soon, there will be a revolting revolt.

I started and finished a new chapter today, Chapter 29, Another Undisclosed Location, and here’s an excerpt:

Delbert Stodden dozed in the rear seat of the black Suburban as it sped along the country lane. He liked being shuttled from safe house to safe house. First, it meant, in the scheme of things, he was far more important than the dunce of a President he’d helped to elect. Second, it meant he didn’t have to spend evenings with his wife. Her docile, compliant act while they dated had suckered him in—that and she could suck the chrome off a car bumper. They’d married when she was a sophomore, and she presented him with his first disappointment in her: She had finished her degree, then gone for a masters and a PhD. As a result nannies had raised their two daughters, both born within the first two years of their marriage and after which he and his wife had moved into separate bedrooms. 

The nannies were probably why the younger girl was queer. He loathed the fact he had to pretend to accept the way she lived, to pretend to enjoy the presence of the dyke she lived with at family events. If his wife had been out of the picture, he’d have sent the little faggot to a church that would have beat the queer out of her.

When he’d contacted Security Solutions for an “aide” to augment his Secret Service detail—Kennedy and Reagan had both been shot on their watch, after all—he’d been pleased with Dan Burkholder. Burkholder was a man’s man, someone who would kill without asking a lot of questions or having qualms, and Stodden had regretted dispatching him so soon after engaging him. He was pleased, however, that Security Solutions had quickly supplied a replacement just as good or better than Burkholder. The new guy, Dominick Gross, had reviewed the Secret Service’s plans for Stodden and found weaknesses, which he bolstered. The Secret Service resented that, but Stodden had called the head of the service and suggested he tell his men to shut up and deal—and do exactly what Gross told them to do.

Gross looked like a professional body builder, but his eyes showed he had no soul. That suited Stodden just fine. Gross made him feel in control.

“Excuse me, sir,” Gross said. “We’ll be arriving in two minutes. I just got the pictures of the team in the safe house. Don’t leave the car until I confirm them, please, sir.”

“Of course, Dom,” Stodden replied. “Have you heard from Dan about that issue I told you about?”

“The CIA woman? Dan is very thorough, sir. He’ll take care of it and do what he needs to do to make certain he gets free and clear. I suspect I’ll hear from him in a day or two.”

“How do you think he’ll do it?” Stodden asked.

“Dan is quite innovative, sir. Given where they are, he’ll probably make it look like the Taliban punished her for being a sinful woman.”

Stodden liked that thought. “You know, the Muslims have the right idea about women.”

(c)2013 by Phyllis Anne Duncan