Pounding stride by pounding stride, the three horses clustered at the front began leaving the others in their dust. Running neck and neck, horses #7 and #1 swapped places by a nose back and forth — #3, #7, #1, and then it was #3, #1, #7, and then #3, #7, #1 again…
The racing announcer could not contain his excitement. “Unbelievable!” he screamed through the loudspeakers. “What an upset! And it’s #3, Flying Chalice by a head with #1, Count Caduceus, out-nosing Bolting Bandit, #7, for second place! Who could have possibly seen that coming?!”
Johnson and Sarich waved their quinella tickets wildly in the air and hooted in jubilation. The two partners danced a jig, bumped chests, and embraced.
···
Every inmate in the packed prison lunchroom focused his hushed attention on a trembling figure in the center of the room.
There, in his blue prison uniform, the cynosure of all eyes, stood Morris, beads of sweat on his balding, downcast head. At a table in front of Morris sat two bespectacled and grave-looking men in suits and ties, an open dictionary before each man. A red felt banner with silky tassels draped down the front of the table. Across the banner in white satin letters read: Guinness Book of World Records.
The two judges checked their stopwatches and exchanged regretful but agreeing nods. One of the men said, “You have sixty seconds to continue, Mr. Lifshitz, or I’m afraid that we will have to disqualify you.”
Morris was in the homestretch, deep into the W’s, but he had begun to falter badly. He was five hours into day three and exhausted. As word of Morris’s freakish memory had passed through the prison, many of his fellow inmates had come to cheer him on. But unaccustomed to the limelight, the pressure was unbearable.
The demons of self-doubt cackled in his ear, mocking his pretensions that he could ever achieve anything…especially a dream. They squatted over the Scrabble board in his mind’s eye and picked their teeth with his racks. Ashen-faced and stiff with dread, Morris was sure he was going to faint. He wobbled on his feet and opened his mouth to speak, but the words would not come.
He flashed back to his childhood: to the bully who had swiped his dictionary, ripped its pages into confetti, and victimized him with an atomic wedgy in front of his giggling classmates. The ruffian’s mocking laughter merged with that of the demons’.
A rustling disappointment spread across the silent room. The chagrin made Morris feel puny and insignificant. He felt that he was letting down not just himself, but all those who had been encouraging him for the past year.
Someone called from the back of the room, “The symphony, Morris! The symphony!”
Morris lifted his eyes from the floor and squinted towards the source of the voice. He bit his lip in resolve and replied with an acknowledging and determined nod. He looked up at the ceiling as if addressing the universe, and he took a deep, vitalizing breath.
Inch by inch, Morris drew up all five-three of his pudgy frame. The judges and convicts cocked their heads at the smirking grin that crept across his face. They knit their brows at the curious vibration that had overtaken his hips. And then their collective jaws unhinged and smacked the floor.
Vibration had turned to oscillation, oscillation to swivel, swiveling to swirling, and then swirling became an exultant dance. Morris’s chubby arms gyrated in the air as he began to juggle something only he could see.
The entire lunchroom looked on, spellbound. One by one, heads began to bob and feet began to tap. Every inmate seemed to be channeling Morris’s secret song. The judges blinked nonplussed, unaware that even they had begun to tap their pens on the table to some subliminal beat.
A new look of confidence smoothed Morris’s worried brow. Color returned to his face and vigor to his mind. Boldly now, and with each swivel of his hips and circular toss of his hands, Morris picked up where he had left off.
He rattled off one word after another, “Wimp, wimpish, wimple … whimbrel, whimper, whimsey…”
The judges, their fingers racing down the pages of their dictionaries, struggled to keep up with him. As soon as he completed his W’s, Morris sailed straight into his X’s. He breezed from X-acto knife to xebec to xiphoid to xoanon to xylophone to the XYZ Affair.
Done with the X’s, Morris launched into the Y’s. He fired off one word after another like a Gatling gun, losing neither beat nor breath. “Ya-yas…yabber…yacht … Yiddish…yodel…yukata…” And then he plowed into the Z’s.
“Zabaglione, zabaione, Zabulon, zacaton…” On and on he pranced and juggled. “Zikkurat, zilch, zillah … zoeal, zoe mou, zoetrope … zubrowka, zucchetto, zucchini…”
Finally, the last words spitting from his tongue, Morris recited triumphantly, “Zythum, zyzomys, zyzzogeton…” He spun on his heels, dropped to his knees, and then reaching behind he caught the final letters, shouting, “Zyzzyva!”
The judges checked their dictionaries, exchanged stupefied looks, and nodded in confirmation. They rose from their seats and clapped.
The prison dining room erupted in whistles and riotous applause as hundreds of paper aircraft streamed or sailed looping through the air.
A throng of inmates mobbed Morris and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Parading the beaming accountant around the cafeteria, they chanted, “Morris, Morris, Morris!”
Near the back of the room, Leroy hopped up and down, hugged everyone around him, and flicked away a tear. Swelling with pride, he said, “Hot dog! I knew you could do it!”
Leroy reared back his arm and sent soaring a paper Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. It zipped across the lunchroom with bullet-like velocity and smacked the hero of the day in the forehead.
“Oops. Sorry about that, Morris…”
···
Huddled around a desk at Santa Fe Police Precinct Station #13 stood a dozen mesmerized police officers. Sitting at the desk, looking like an angel among the cluster of brawny and strapping officers, Freya laid out a spread of tarot cards. In front of her, biting his nails, sat a big bear of a cop. He stared apprehensively at Freya, his expression flickering between dread and anticipation.
Freya tapped one of the cards: The Empress. The card portrayed an empress on a throne in the midst of a field of grain. She wore a starry crown, and in her hand was a scepter.
Freya lifted her dazzling blue eyes and said, “Looking good, Mario. Looking very good. This woman you are inquiring about is a free spirit and earthy, am I right?”
“You sure are!” the officer exclaimed. “Lenore loves camping and outdoors, just like me! And she has a green thumb, that gal. You should see the garden she keeps!”
“Uh-huh,” Freya said. “She is also very motherly and nurturing, isn’t she?”
“Yes, ma’am, she is! She is always asking if I’m dressed warm enough, asking about what I’m eating, and making sure that I’m not drinking too much. And Lenore is a hugger too!”
Duly impressed, murmurs of fascination rolled from the lips of the other cops. Magic was happening right under their noses!
“But remember, Mario,” Freya said, an intimidating graveness in her voice, “this woman is a sophisticated lady as well. Therefore, I am advising you to ditch the girly magazines, iron your shirt, pick up your apartment, and replace the stacked beer cans with plants and vases of flowers. And for goodness’ sakes, Mario, cease with the belching and get rid of those leopard-spotted briefs.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Mario saluted.
The other cops roared with laughter. Mario Martinez’s mustached partner, Lawson, elbowed him in the side and said, “She’s got you pegged, Martinez! Pegged!”
Mario blushed and turned to the others, “I can’t deny it, boys. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s got me right down to my undies! And did you hear that, guys? Sophisticated!”
The cops cheered and slapped Mario on the back.
“Do me, Freya!” exclaimed the next cop in line. “Do me!”
Brock Parker looked on through the window of his office, an adoring smile on his face. Sitting at hi
s side was Loki. He scratched the big pooch behind the ear and said, “Never a dull moment, eh, kiddo?”
Pennies from Heaven
Murphy and Joy sat on the porch swing in front of Murphy’s home in Eureka, Kansas. Joy was doing needlepoint and Murphy was polishing a penny that he had dug up in his backyard while adding parkour features to his homemade obstacle course. In front of Murphy was a telescope aimed at the night sky.
Joy sang softly, “Catch a falling star an’ put it in your pocket, never let it fade away…”
Murphy’s murphometer went off. Without looking away from his work he said, “Incoming.”
Joy stopped what she was doing and gazed up at the night sky. A series of shooting stars came into view. “Good batch that one!” she proclaimed.
Murphy held up his shiny penny. “Just like new,” he said. “We’re in luck too. A 1909-S VDB penny. One of the very first Lincoln pennies. Very rare! I’m sure that whomever dropped this little fella had no idea how valuable it would become.” He added it to his coin-collecting book.
“Not everyone knows how lucky they really are,” Joy said.
Murphy smiled at Joy. “I do.”
They kissed, and then Joy showed Murphy the progress she had made with her needlepoint. The needlepoint depicted a heavenly sky and a dog romping in a field of wildflowers, four-leaf clover, butterflies, and ladybugs.
Misty-eyed, Murphy said, “It’s beautiful. That’s just how I imagine him.”
Joy patted Murphy’s knee in a display of commiseration.
“Your technique has really improved!” he congratulated.
“It’s just a hobby,” Joy grinned. “And, I had a good teacher.”
Murphy and Joy glanced across the street.
Joy said, “One…two…now!”
Click-click-click…
Across the street, Lamont Moody’s newly installed automatic sprinklers went off. Mr. Moody’s house had never looked so good. It boasted new windows and shutters, and a new roof and fresh paint job too. Even the lightning-scarred and storm-shorn trees in the front yard had been replaced. In fact, all the homes on Murphy’s block looked recently renovated and better than ever.
Joy said, “It was nice of you to help Mr. Moody fix up his place. I’m not sure that I could have been so charitable. Especially after all those mean and nasty things he said about you.”
Murphy shrugged. “We’re neighbors after all, and I wanted us to start fresh.”
“Well, he could have at least said thank you. Your other neighbors were much more gracious.”
“That’s okay,” Murphy said. “I’m just glad nothing too bad happened while all the work was going on.”
“Thanks to your amazing reflexes,” Joy reminded him.
“Well…”
Joy, having picked up more than needlepoint from Murphy over the past year, perked up her ears and zeroed in on a discordant frequency. She looked to Murphy for confirmation.
Murphy nodded and said, “I’ll go.”
“No, no, it’s my turn. You keep polishing those coins you found. I can’t wait to see what the nickels and dimes are worth!”
Joy went into the house singing:
Catch a falling star an’ put it in your pocket, never let it fade away.
Catch a falling star an’ put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.
For love may come an’ tap you on the shoulder some starless night.
Just in case you feel you want to hold her, you’ll have a pocketful of starlight.
Murphy smiled, a man at peace with himself and the world.
And then his murphometer went off again. “Uh-oh…”
Murphy leaned forward and peered into his telescope. He looked up helplessly at the night sky.
Another series of shooting stars came into view, but one star did not fizzle out. Then came a loud zooming noise, followed by a meteorite the size of a baseball slamming through Mr. Moody’s new roof.
Kaboom!
From across the street echoed Mr. Moody’s familiar voice, “Drummer-r-r!”
Joy called reassuringly from inside the house, “Murphy, it’s not your fault!”
A minute later, Joy reappeared at the doorway. In her arms she rocked an infant wrapped in a pink blanket. She looked across the street and marveled at the hole in Mr. Moody’s new roof.
Joy said to the infant, “Isn’t life funny, Phaedra?”
The End
A Message from Benjamin Laskin
Thank you for reading Murphy’s Luck. I hope that you enjoyed it. I recognize that there are a lot of terrific authors out there yearning for your attention, so I really appreciate that you gave one of my books a chance.
If you liked the book, I would be honored if you wouldn’t mind rating it and posting a comment at Amazon.com. Even a couple of sentences would be quite valuable to those who might be considering giving one of my novels a try, so thank you very much!
If you would like to contact me directly, I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at [email protected], or reach me via my Facebook author’s page, or through my website: www.benjaminlaskin.com, where you can also sign up for my newsletter for the latest in news, updates, and occasional specials.
With gratitude,
Benjamin Laskin
Other Novels by Benjamin Laskin
Did you enjoy Murphy’s Luck? There is more where that came from. All of Benjamin Laskin’s novels are available both as paperbacks and e-books at Amazon.com.
Stormer’s Pass
Say Uncle
The Will
Shooting Eros
Murphy’s Luck
STORMER’S PASS
If you can’t wait for a hero, you must become one.
Star high school quarterback Max Stormer is one season away from scholarships and fame when an extraordinary girl named Aidos strolls out of the surrounding hills of his small mountain town, and punts all his plans.
Aidos’ jaw-dropping abilities and enchanting spirit awaken in Max potential he never knew he possessed. Aidos might know little about sports, but what she knows about the game of life results in Max becoming captain of something much bigger than a football team.
When Aidos mysteriously disappears, a trail of death, sabotage, and intrigue makes Max the target of an all-out manhunt, and America’s most reluctant rebel. To set things straight, Max must utilize the wisdom he learned from Aidos, and employ a grit and determination greater than he ever needed to demonstrate on any playing field. Be he maverick or hero, outlaw or champion, Max finds himself leading his team into a contest far more dangerous than a football game.
Stormer’s Pass is an enthralling adventure about two peoples’ uncommon faith in each other, their friends, and in the magic of courage.
SAY UNCLE
Believing in himself was difficult.
Someone else believing in him was deadly.
Guy Andrews has spent his twenty years on his back crying uncle. His hope for change arrives in the form of a beguiling young woman who recruits him to track down a man he has never met, whose name he cannot know, and whose amazing life Guy can unravel only through clues left in the man’s secret-saturated past.
Lured into a world of gorgeous spies and ruthless assassins, Guy needs to find Anonymous Man before the man’s many enemies find Guy. To do so, Guy must slay the slacker within, draw on wits and courage he didn’t know he possessed, and solve the mystery of his own past before everyone he loves becomes its next victims.
Say Uncle is the story of a young man’s humorous and inspiring struggle to find in anonymity his own unique place, and so—to say uncle no more.
THE WILL
Putting the will in willpower.
Josh McCain has two years to reinvent himself. Stripped by his father of everything that made life a swanky, booze and babe-filled breeze, Josh embarks on a grueling and often hilarious two-year regimen of self-discipline that targets his mind, body, and spirit.
Along the way,
skeptics mock him; his own past taunts him; and saboteurs resolve to stop him. But Josh is determined to complete his “bucket list from hell,” and prove that who he was is not as important as who he can become.
Operating in unfamiliar territory, Josh turns to a cast of quirky characters to aid him on his secret journey; persons he’d have previously shunned. Upbeat and inspiring, The Will is an enthralling story of goofs and grit, of the regenerative power of friendship—and if Josh doesn’t blow it—real love.
SHOOTING EROS
Love’s greatest champion has just become Heaven’s fiercest foe.
In the year 2034, a rogue cupid commando arrives on earth to remind a battered and faithless world that some things are still worth fighting for.
As the result of a sacred vow, Heaven’s top performing and most unorthodox cupid commando, Captain Cyrus, is accused of treason and ignominiously cast down to earth to live as a mortal man. A stranger in a strange land, Cyrus sets out to vindicate himself, and in the process, save his fellow man from sinister forces it can’t possibly comprehend. A warrior trained in the ways of the ancients, but now blind to a world he knows exists but can no longer see, Cyrus charges in where no cupid soldier has ever dared to go to save humankind from a dark and loveless eternity.
Two worlds divided; one holy mission. A match made in Heaven; a love forged on earth. Love is a battlefield.
MURPHY’S LUCK
Sometimes rotten luck is better than no luck at all.
Jinxed from birth with astonishing bad luck, Murphy Drummer hasn’t ventured beyond his backyard since he was a little boy. To remedy his loneliness he immersed himself in the mastering of hundreds of hobbies, and in the process developed some amazing abilities.
Murphy’s Luck Page 19