Killing Time

by Thomas A. Damron

head, stepped sockless into the deck shoes and sauntered to the large patio where the pool was located. I ordered a chicken salad sandwich with a side of honeydew melon and a 22 ounce draught beer. I smiled as I thought about how good my week had been. I pocketed over a half a million dollars with no income tax or Social Security withholding grabbed by our Uncle's infamous rats at the IRS. After lunch I cooled off in the pool, tired of it and went back to the lounge to sun dry. The warm day plus the breeze dried my trunks in no time. I left the pool, returned to the room, changed into shorts but kept the tee shirt and cap. I stuck my feet in white socks, changed to my sneakers, went to the garage and drove to a nearby golf course. I rented four clubs, bought a large bucket of balls and spent the afternoon releasing my pent up energy by slamming golf balls at the target flags on the driving range.

  I showered, changed into dressier casual clothes and went to the enclosed patio bar to wait for the arrival of Cindy and Marilou I sat in a barrel chair and watched the vacationers frolic in the pool that was now crowded. I was sipping a cold Cuba Libra when I spotted them exit the main building and come rushing across the patio, skirting the splashing kids while smiling at them and waving as they passed. I stood and met them at the door. Both gave me a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. I held the chairs for them and asked, "Do you want a drink here before we go?" Cindy nodded and answered, "Please. It's too early to go to town and I need one after the last presentation." I signaled for the server, she took their orders, and I asked, "What happened in the last session?"

  Cindy rolled her eyes and said, "It was all about battles with the FDA over research statistics and the results. It involved a Power Point presentation that had so many percentages, so many calculations that I ended up cross-eyed. Marilou understood it much better than I did. I only write prescriptions and don't really care about FDA battles,' she giggled and tapped my hand, pointing to Marilou who had a sly grin on her face.

  "Okay, Marilou. I assume you understood all those numbers that confused Cindy. So what was your take on the presentation?"

  "To be truthful, I had been following the FDA approval process closely because this new antibiotic will be a huge advance against those diseases where present antibodies no longer work. The medical profession was too free in prescribing some of our present antibodies and the disease mutated to where it became immune to the drugs. The numbers made sense to me but wouldn't to an outsider like Cindy."

  I answered her by saying, "I've read about that problem several times in the last couple of years. So this new drug is an answer to the problem?"

  "You bet it is. We've been waiting on it now for four years. Yes, it's taken four years to get to this approval. Europe approved it in only fourteen months. We need faster approvals, not more studies. But, that probably won't ever happen so I quit crossing my fingers. Anyway, let's talk about your day. How did it go?"

  "I had a fantastically successful day. The client I met with was extremely happy with my services. My partners back home will be jealous of what I accomplished this week."

  Cindy grinned and said, "So you went in knocked them dead with your personality, huh?"

  I laughed and said, "You hit the nail on the head, Cindy. They were so dazzled they couldn't get up to let me out. Days like today are worth all the effort it takes to bring them to a great ending."

  Marilou sipped her drink and said, "Any other deals like today in the near future? Where do you go from here?"

  'I go back home for a breather and try to scratch up a few more deals while take a rest. I'm thinking of flying down to the Cayman Islands for a few days.

  Two days later I was parking in my assigned space on Decatur Street in New Orleans. I checked my mailbox and took the handful of mail that had accumulated in my absence. I sat at my desk and slit the mail open. The third letter I read was a notice of an urgent Powwow called by the Tribal Council of the United Houma Nation of which I am a member. I read the date, noted it on my calendar as a reminder to attend. The office side door opened and one of my partners in our financial services operation came in and sat in my side chair. I smiled and he asked, "How was your vacation, Tencount."

  I swiveled around and grinned as I answered, "It was a killer of a time Kenny. Let me tell you about the two gorgeous women I met and what happened afterwards."

  The End

  The Deadly Incessant Rainfall

  My name is Rory Reardon. I am turning twenty-five in two months and have nothing to look forward to because I am lonely, fruitlessly looking for new friends and finding none in this tiny, awful, clannish, closed-society new dump where I have been transferred to begin my career in marketing. The closest company office where I knew only two co-workers was sixty-fives miles due west from me. Up until now I have led a charmed life and I think I am now being punished for my good luck. I graduated last term from the University of Kellman with an MBA in Marketing, one of only five students in that major. Kellman is truly a liberal arts school and most students are in the arts and believe me, they are liberal. The time I spent at Kellman was less in the classroom than it was in getting sex from the wildly, over-sexed liberal women who attended Kellman only because of its reputation of sleeping in class to rest up for wild and frequent sex at night. See what I meant by good luck. Don't get me wrong, I had other luck during my school years. I had scholarships, one in baseball, one from the Douglass Foundation, and one from a trust that my Granddad had established when I was born. I was in luck as a graduate because I was possibly the only one in my class who walked away with not one penny of student debt. Now that's luck in this day and age.

  I joined a church group and have yet to be singled out and introduced as a new resident and member of the singles class I was assigned to attend. I am mostly ignored in the class and at the social functions. I joined several civic clubs. They were all populated by much older men who, for the most part, are sole-proprietors of their own local business and wanted nothing to do with an employee of a national giant company. Thank goodness none are my customer as they would be a tough nut to crack. To cap it all off, it rains constantly here in the valley between the mountains. The only salvation is that the rainfall is light, has no threat of violent wind or lightening, and surprisingly, at least to me, has little to no thunder.

  After a particularly grueling week on the road, I returned home to my small rental house tired, upset, disgusted, in dire need of someone to unload on and generally pissed at the World and myself for accepting this transfer. I sat in my lonely dim living room drinking beer and staring out the window at the damn rain splashing on the pane when all of a sudden, the dam broke and the rainfall began rapidly increasing. I sat my beer on the table and walked to the window to watch this phenomenon taking place. The increase didn't slow; in fact it sped up until I couldn't see the drugstore catty-corner from my house. The drops hitting on the roof became deafening. I thought it was hail but no, it was only heavy rain drops. I saw mud slipping around the corner of my house and flooding the streets with its slimy, slick yellowish consistency. The city had built two sluices, one on each side of my house. They were designed to carry the runoff from the winter snows and the spring rains. They normally run in underground streams with grating spaced at ten yard intervals. The underground flow goes under the street in front and ends up in the river two blocks away. But today, within minutes the overflow from the heavy rain had filled the sluices and the excess was filling the streets from curb to curb. I turned and ran to the

  back door to check for any breach. My luck held. The mud from the mountain behind the house that couldn't enter the sluices was splitting and bypassing my rear entrance, following the sluices, second rivers of knee-deep mud over the jammed sluices on each side of the house as it flowed toward the street.

  I ran back to the front as the rainfall increased in volume and blew sideways toward the drugstore. Traffic was non-existent as it was impossible not only to see to drive but to also manage driving through the flow of the thick, now mostly red, mud. I leaned tow
ard the window when I saw the movement of something in the street. I blinked, rubbed my eyes and couldn't believe that it was a bicyclist maneuvering through the god-awful mud stream. I watched with unbelieving eyes as the bicycle was passing the front of my house, pedal deep in the slime. Without a warning, the front wheel dipped drastically, the rider went over the handlebars into the street and was wallowing in the streaming flow of mud. The bicyclist was desperately trying to rise from the maelstrom that kept pouring mud over the body and head. I was torn over what to do. Calling 911 would not be the answer. It would be too late even if they could manage the trip. So, I made my decision.

  I donned my raincoat, my gloves, and galoshes, opened the door and sloshed across the lawn, carefully wading through the mud stream, and stepped into the street unaware of the strength of the flow. I struggled to gain my foothold to keep from becoming a victim myself. I slowly waded through the slime and reached the bike rider who was now facing down in the mud, flailing arms weakening while trying to turn over to breathe. I could see that the helmet had filled with dripping mud and was spilling down the face into the eyes and mouth. I straddled