Author: gigicatchesair

Certified Sadidstic Accountant Chapter Twenty

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter twenty of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. One can never underestimate the importance of getting one’s blanket just so. I spend a fair amount of time each day adjusting my beloved blanket. My novelist will fold it into a nice flat rectangle and place it on the bed. This is all good and well except I simply do not like it that way. You see, I like to fluff it up a bit, rumple it even, arrange it so that I am content. And then what does my novelist do? She shakes it out and folds it back into a rectangle. I must get her to understand that once my blanket is exactly the way I have arranged it, that is the way it should remain. It is my blanket after all. It is necessary for me to scrunch it up the way I imagine it to be in my head so I can think. How else am I to get any work done if she keeps flattening it out into a boring easy to describe shape? How is that creative? She writes novels, she should have insight into this. An artist needs their quirks. I must have a word with her about the matter. Until then here is chapter twenty of Certified Sadistic Accountant. Enjoy!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Twenty

Mr. Dupree slogged into the office the next day haggard and beside himself. His eyes were glassy, his shirt untucked, and his tie not properly knotted. Curtis took one look at his boss and knew his plan was in full swing. He hurried over to him and said, “Mr. Dupree, you look terrible. Is everything okay?”

“Fia,” Dallas moaned. “Fia is being held for ransom.”

“Really?”

Mr. Dupree flung his briefcase up on one of the nearby desks and flipped open the latches. He produced the ransom note Curtis had left inside his mailbox last night. Curtis tingled with adrenaline when he saw it.

“Shouldn’t you have given it to the police?”

Mr. Dupree ruffled. “Of course, I called the police, Cook. I called the sheriff directly. But she must be missing for twenty-four hours before they will do anything.”

“Did you tell them about the ransom note?”

“No, Cook I did not. I called the sheriff before I ever received the ransom note. Before I even knew there was a ransom note. I am waiting until lunch time to call them again. Then it will be twenty-four hours since she’s been gone.”

“I think the ransom note would be enough for them to spring into action. It specifically shows she’s a hostage.”

“In the hands of criminals.”

Curtis wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being referred to as a criminal. “Although, I suppose its possible they might consider you wrote the ransom note yourself.”

“What possible reason would I have for writing a ransom note for my recently abducted daughter, Cook?”

“I am sorry you are in this terrible situation, Mr. Dupree.”

“My poor Fia. My poor dear Fia.”

Just then Makenna, Lance, Irving, and Grady entered the office all carrying pastel coffee cups from The Steamed Bean. They collectively looked at Mr. Dupree and knew something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Lance asked, being the bravest of the four.

“Fia,” Mr. Dupree said sullenly. “She’s been kidnapped.”

“What?” Makenna said shocked.

“I received a ransom note in my mailbox this morning saying Fia had been kidnapped with instructions to follow.”

“How much money do they want?” Lance asked.

“I don’t even know if it’s money they want. All I know is there will be instructions to follow.”

“The whole thing seems implausible,” Grady said.

“Well, it is plausible, Grady. It’s very plausible.”

“How is Mrs. Dupree doing?” Makenna asked.

“Pretty much the same way any sane mother would after finding out her daughter had been kidnapped: out of her mind!”

“Do you have any idea when you might be getting more information from the kidnappers?”

“No. I’m hoping by tonight. Maybe in the morning. Until then I must wait until noon to report her missing.”

Mr. Dupree trudged upstairs to his office.

“What are we going to do for a receptionist?” Lance asked.

“Don’t be so insensitive,” Makenna said.

“It’s going to get busy. Someone needs to be at the desk.”

“I’ll ask Mr. Dupree,” Curtis said.

“Why you?” Irving said. “I don’t trust you.”

“Screw it,” Lance said. “Go ask him, Cook the Books.”

Curtis turned and headed up the stairs to Mr. Dupree’s office and knocked on the door.”

“What is it, Cook?” Mr. Dupree called.

“I hate to be insensitive,” Curtis said, “but who do you want handling the receptionist desk?”

Mr. Dupree sighed. “Why did this have to happen during tax season? People always kick you when you’re down.”

“I’ll take over the receptionist desk, Mr. Dupree.”

“No, Cook, you won’t. You’re handling some of my biggest clients. You don’t have time.”

“Yes, Mr. Dupree,” Curtis said, appreciative of the complement.

“You’re a good man, Cook.”

That complement, however, filled Curtis with remorse. But he had to keep it together. All he had to do was make it through the weekend.

“I’ll do it.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll handle the desk.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea…I mean considering what you’re going through?”

“It’s too late to call in a substitute. Fia was our substitute.”

“Okay, Mr. Dupree.”

Curtis trotted back downstairs and told his fellow accountants, “Mr. Dupree will be working the receptionist desk.”

“You mean he’s going to come down here and spy on us?” Lance said irritated. “Tax season is stressful enough. I don’t need the boss looking over my shoulder. I mean does the guy even know how to answer the phones?”

“We need a receptionist,” Makenna said, “so, stop complaining.”

“Seriously not liking this at all.”

As soon as business hours began, Mr. Dupree came down the stairs, straightened his navy-blue Savile Row silk tie and marched over to the receptionist’s desk, stepped up on the platform and took his place just as the first phone call rang.

“Dupree Tax Agency,” he said into the handset. “How may I direct your call…oh, it’s you, Bob. So, now you call me after dismissing the disappearance of my daughter.”

All the accountants leaned in to eavesdrop.  

“You said I had to wait until noon…then why are you calling me? Oh, you’re worried. How kind of you. How considerate. If you were so worried you should have helped find my daughter last night! And she’s been kidnapped. I found a ransom note in my mailbox this morning…. yeah, that’s right, a ransom note…. yeah, you’d better get right on it, Sherlock!” Mr. Dupree slammed down the handset. After a beat, he looked out at all his employees staring at him. “What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“I guess he does know how to answer the phones,” Lance whispered to Curtis.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: DREAM SCENARIO (2023)–HBO MAX

It’s always a delight to come across a smaller film that is well worth watching and be able to recommend it for our Stream of the Week. This week’s pick is one of those films. Introverted, unassuming, unpublished professor Dr. Paul Mathews (Nicholas Cage in top form) only wants a couple of things out of life: his family, his job and publishing his book which he has yet to write. Then one day his younger daughter Sophie (Lily Bird) tells her dad she had a dream about him the night before where all around her in their back yard things were falling from the sky, the ground was shaking, and she suddenly was being lifted into the air. And all the time her father was just calmly raking leaves.

Paul later meets up with his old girlfriend from college with a vague hope that she still thinks about him or has some residual feelings. But in truth she’s hardly thought about him over the years and all she can say about Paul is she saw him in a recent dream, and he was doing nothing. Paul finds out his students are also having dreams about him where something stressful is occurring and Paul just seems to walk through them unphased. In fact, the only people who don’t seem to be dreaming about Paul are the Dean of Paul’s college Brett (Tim Meadows) and his wife Janet (Julianne Nicholson). Paul’s life starts to become crazier when he contacts a public relations firm called Thoughts? where he meets the head of marketing Trent (Michael Cere) and his assistant Molly (Dylan Nicole Gelula) who want to have Paul pimp Sprite in people’s unconscious. Molly confesses to Paul she has been having erotic dreams about him, a fact that will spin Paul’s world into greater chaos.

Dream Scenario is an excellent meditation on the modern take of mob mentality and the inability for human beings in the modern day to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. The film’s editing was done by Kristoffer Borgli who also wrote the original screenplay and directed the film, to move like a dream throughout, giving the audience the sensation of not necessarily knowing what is real and what is not. I am disappointed the film did not receive Oscar nominations for Nicholas Cage’s superb performance, and Borgli’s editing and writing.  

If you’d like to see Nicholas Cage in another outstanding smaller film, check out Pig (2021) which we strongly recommend and featured as one of our Stream of the Week picks last year. It is currently streaming on Hulu.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Nineteen

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Good afternoon. It is I, Gigi the parti poodle, here to present chapter nineteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. As many of you know my beloved companion Tucker the Maltese passed away recently. On Easter weekend he would always join me here on the blog to celebrate the holiday. And so, this year I was forced to find a substitute. I would like to introduce you to a brown bunny who hops around my neighborhood, Peter Cottontail.

My name isn’t Peter Cottontail. I’m Bernard D. Bunny.

And he is homeless…

I am not homeless I live in a burrow.

And needs financial support…

I do not need financial support. I am a wild bunny. I’m self-sufficient.

And so, he has agreed to join me today for a fee…

I did not take any money for this.

…to perform an Easter song.

That is not what we agreed on.

It most certainly is. You are going to sing the Easter song.

Alright, look. I’ll do the song, but I want to make it clear just because I’m a bunny doesn’t mean I’m the Easter Bunny.

No one said you were the Easter Bunny.

You called me Peter Cottontail. A lot of people associate Peter Cottontail who hops down the bunny trail with the Easter Bunny.

I certainly did not say you were the Easter Bunny.

Okay, so you understand I am Bernard D. Bunny.

Mr. Bunny is now going to perform an Easter Song.

Well, I guess I’m doing this. You say Easter I say bunny.

You need to put a little more energy into it. And it’s “I say Easter, you say bunny.”

Yeah. Okay. I say Easter, you say bunny. Easter.

Bunny.

What?

Bunny.

Oh, right…Easter.

Bunny.

Easter.

Bunny.

I say Easter, you say bunny. Easter.

Bunny.

Easter.

Bunny.

Alright! Alright.!Are you ready for some holiday celebration, poodle?

Yes, I…

I say Easter, you say bunny! Easter!

Bunny.

Easter!

Bunny.

This poodle is crazy! Alright, crazy poodle! Alright! We’re going to rock this one home! I say Easter, you say bunny!

Easter!

Bunny!

Easter!

Bunny!

I SAID, I SAY EASTER, POODLE! YOU SAY BUNNY! EASTER! EASTER! EASTER! EASTER!

BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY!

STAGE DIVE!

Mr. Bunny? Mr. Bunny? Are you alright?

Happy Easter, Baby! Yeah!

And with that thought here is Chapter Nineteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Happy Easter!

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Nineteen

“What am I supposed to sleep on in that filthy room?” Fia asked as they headed back upstairs to the attic.

Curtis realized he hadn’t considered her sleeping arrangements. His aunt didn’t have a bed up there. A table and chairs, yes. A bed, no. And he didn’t want to make Fia sleep on the floor. She was, for all practical purposes, a houseguest. There were two bedrooms on the second floor: the master bedroom and the guestroom. The guestroom could be locked from the outside. The master bedroom could not. The problem was the window. His aunt had new windows installed about six years ago when he was still in college. But it wouldn’t take much for Fia to get out of it. There wasn’t anything she could climb out on like a tree or a trellis. But she could take the risk of jumping out the window which meant she would either break a bone or get lucky, come out unscathed and take off. And that just wouldn’t do. But if he were to sleep in the bedroom with her, he might be able to come up with a way to make it difficult for her to run.

“Let me think about it,” he told her.

“So, you haven’t thought this out,” she said.

“Of course, I’ve thought this out. But like all plans there are always little details that come up the planner doesn’t expect. So, one must be able to call an audible.”

“You had better call an audible right now because there is no way I’m sleeping on that filthy attic floor.”

“I have no intention of you sleeping on the attic floor. In fact, what I’d really like is for you to make yourself at home. Feel free to roam about the house. But you tried to escape and that makes things difficult. And I don’t want things to be difficult.”

“You kidnapped me. I’m obliged to escape.”

“This doesn’t have to be a hostile situation. It could be amicable.”

“Amicable?”

“Yes. You are my houseguest…”

“Houseguest?”

“…and you could consider it a unique way to spend your spring break.”

“You’re nuts. You’re cracked.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve been put in a precarious situation.”

“Precarious situation? You need a psychiatric evaluation.”

“Stop saying that.”

“No sane person would kidnap someone and not have a plan.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You will sleep on the attic floor.”

“Better than being your “houseguest”,” she said making quotation marks with her fingers.

Curtis grabbed her under the arm and marched her back to the attic. He opened the door, shoved her inside and said, “I hope you enjoy your filthy floor. And my aunt soundproofed this house so any yelling you are planning to do is a moot point.”

“You can’t leave me bound in this zip tie all night.”

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Curtis slammed the door shut, locked it, and marched down the stairs. He headed into the kitchen, put on his aunt’s apron, and went about fixing himself a late dinner. He took out a water glass, a fork and a steak knife and set himself a place at the dining room table. He opened the refrigerator, took out the top sirloin steak he’d purchased for himself, and set it next to the mushrooms and russet potato he had set on the counter. He walked over and checked on the potato he’d stuck in the oven suddenly realizing his face was burning and his hands trembling. Why did she have to say those things to him? He wasn’t crazy. He had a plan and a solid understanding of where it was going. Crazy people didn’t have plans or at least not very good ones.

Curtis went about seasoning his steak and preparing his mushrooms. He found his aunt had left a bottle of merlot in the kitchen for cooking wine. She hated regular cooking wine as her pallet found the libation too salty. He cooked the steak to medium rare while using a sauté pan for his mushrooms. He took out a plate, placed his steak on it with tongs, grabbed the pan with the mushrooms and tilted it allowing them to tumble into place by the steak. Then he put on an oven mitt, retrieved his potato from the oven, sliced it open at the top and garnished it with butter and sour cream. He chopped up some chives and sprinkled them on top.

He untied his apron, hung it on a nearby hook, carried his plate to the table and sat down to eat his dinner. He found himself looking across the table at the empty chair. He sighed. This was not how he pictured the situation. In the back of his mind, he’d imagined Fia sitting in that vacant chair as his dinner companion. He’d stayed up most of the night researching what women liked to eat. He chewed his steak thoughtfully and considered the possibility of dessert.

After he finished his meal, he rinsed his dishes in the sink and put them along with Fia’s in the dishwasher. He marveled for a moment his dishes were standing next to hers. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were Bexley’s? He shook his head. No matter. He opened the refrigerator and took out a miniature cherry cheesecake made for two he’d picked up at the downtown bakery. He opened the cupboard to retrieve two dessert plates then changed his mind. The cheesecake was, after all, presented on a gold foil cardboard doily. It should be served this way with two small silver dessert forks for two participants to share.

Curtis straightened his shirt and marched upstairs. He stood outside the attic door and raised his hand to knock. Suddenly, a nervousness came over him. He lowered his hand and stared at the door. Perhaps dessert was a terrible idea. He turned to leave and heard movement inside. She’s not asleep after all, he thought. He straightened his shirt again, took in a deep breath and…

“I know you’re out there,” Fia called from inside. “You’re freaking me out.”

Curtis coughed as he exhaled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said catching his breath. “I just…I wanted to ask you to join me for dessert.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I have a little cherry cheesecake I…”

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

Fia wasn’t lactose intolerant. But under the circumstances she liked screwing with Curtis’s head.

“Oh,” he said disheartened. “Well…perhaps I could find you a different dessert.”

“You know what I’d really like for dessert, Curtis? I’d like to go home. That would be the perfect ending to this otherwise miserable day.”

“I’m just trying to make you feel at home.”

“By locking me in an attic and zip-tying my hands. Yeah, that’s a brilliant way to make someone feel at home.”

“Honestly, if I’d known you were lactose intolerant I would have bought a different dessert.”

“I don’t want desert, Curtis. I want to go home and sleep in a comfortable bed.”

“Lucky for you I’ve changed my mind.”

“You’re letting me go home?”

“My aunt has a comfortable bed in the guest room. I’ll let you sleep there if you stop complaining. My aunt has some clean oversized t-shirts you can change into if you want to wear one.”

Fia considered the idea. “I could do that.”

Curtis unlocked the door and quickly flipped on the light. He saw Fia was still sitting at the table. She looked as if she may have folded her arms and laid her head on the table. “Come on.”

Fia rose and slogged towards the door. He could see she was tired. He led her down the stairs to the second floor to the guestroom. He opened the door and turned on the light.

“This is an improvement,” Fia said looking around. The room had a large painting over the bed. The bed was modern looking with a white comforter and matching pillows and sheets. There was a white leather lip couch opposite the bed and a small walk-in closet. The floor was solid wood with a white Persian rug in front of the bed.

“The t-shirts are in the drawers there by the lips. The door locks from the outside. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Curtis shut the door and locked it behind him. He headed to the master bedroom. Fia hurried over to the window and looked outside. She could see nothing to climb out on. And there wasn’t a ledge. There had to be a way out of this place.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: ROAD HOUSE (2024)-AMAZON PRIME

This week’s movie is violent, ridiculous, lowbrow, and stupid. And it’s a whole lot of fun. Jake Gyllenhaal is in top form in this remake of the 1989 cult classic as Dalton, ex-UFC fighter with a past who finds himself asked by owner Frankie (Jessica Williams) to take a job in the Florida Keys at her roadhouse. She is willing to pay him a handsome some of money as head bouncer. After his car gets smashed by a train, Dalton decides to take her up on her offer. Leaving his elegant car behind in good hands, he takes the bus to the Glass Key neighborhood of the Keys where he meets likable Charlie (Hannah Love Lanier) a very young co-owner of a bookstore with her father Stephen (Kevin Carroll). They assist in helping him navigate his way to the Road House.

Once he arrives Frankie offers him a comfortable place to stay but Dalton opts instead for The Boat, an old boat Frankie owns which is rumored to have had a crocodile problem. Dalton quickly finds the bar to be quite harrowing after he takes five rowdy bikers outside, beats them up and drives them to the hospital. There he meets Dr. Elle (Daniela Melchior) a female doctor in the ER who tends to his injuries is none too pleased with the load of patients he has brought in. Dalton finds out the bikers work for Ben Brandt (Billy Magnussen) the local heavy who plans to tear down the roadhouse. Billy and has a few problems of his own including a man named Knox (Conor McGregor) whom his imprisoned father has sent to assist with the situation.

Be sure to check out the original Road House starring Patrick Swayze also streaming on Amazon Prime.

Tucker: In Memoriam

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What can you say about a thirteen-year-old Maltese who died?

That he was beautiful. And quiet. That he loved going for walks. And suppertime. And my novelist. And me. One time when I was feeling particularly generous, I let him snuggle up on the chair I happened to be sharing with my novelist. I even let him lie to the left side of her whilst I, of course, lay on her lap. I am normally quite stingy when it comes to these things. But in retrospect I wish I had let him lie next to her more.  

On Saturday, the day Tucker passed away, my novelist could not stop crying. She was stronger on Sunday but on Monday I heard her sniffling and trying to hold back tears. Every so often she would look over at the chair he used to lie in, and a deep sadness would fill her eyes. She has his collar properly buckled and sitting near the door. Perhaps with the hope he will someday come home.

I too am adjusting to the loss of my companion. I found myself checking his empty bed and a couple of nights ago I ran over and barked at the beanbag chair hoping he might hop down and romp around with me. And then I realized he wasn’t there. I even checked under my novelist’s bed where he liked to hide, but my efforts were in vain.

Tucker was a rescue dog. His original owner was an elderly lady who passed away when he was three years old. My novelist had owned a chihuahua poodle mix who’d died in surgery several months prior. The woman who was fostering Tucker was my novelist’s groomer. The groomer agreed to part with Tucker and my novelist paid her and gave Tucker a home.

It took Tucker some time to adjust to living with my novelist. He did not know how to be carried at first. His elderly owner must not have picked him up much. My novelist tells me when she first started carrying him, he would lose balance and tilt in awkward ways. But after a while he got used to it. I dare say he enjoyed it. He was a Maltese and a lapdog after all. He loved curling up in her lap which I could not stand because I always wanted to curl up in her lap. Sometimes I just had to accept I needed to share. And I hate to share. I think for a long time Tucker missed his original owner. My novelist tells me it is very hard on a dog to lose their owner. What he went through was traumatic, she told me, and there was a small room inside his heart where he always kept her.

My novelist procured me from the same groomer. I was the groomer’s poodle’s puppy. My twin brother had already been sold and I was still for sale. I am a parti poodle, but my brother had pure black hair. My novelist purchased me, but I couldn’t go home with her at first. My brother and I were too young to leave our mother yet. And so, my novelist had to wait about a month before she brought me home to live with Tucker. Tucker was displeased with me the moment he saw me. But after a while he came to understand it was my abode and he was merely allowed to live there. My novelist disagreed with my philosophy and often scolded me or gave me a time-out when she thought I’d crossed a line. But it was only because she loved Tucker and wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

Some of the good times I remember included Tucker and I going on road trips with my novelist. We got to stay in some lovely Airbnb places together by the beach. There was one in a rather remote and quiet area which was quite wonderful. It was cavernous and my voice echoed magnificently throughout the house. We both enjoyed the sea air and exploring new places.

Tucker’s decline came upon us slowly. He started to bump into things and my novelist said his eyesight must be going. Others were skeptical but it turned out she was right. His eyesight indeed left him, and he was blind for the last portion of his life. Last year the vet noticed he had a heart murmur. I thought of his first owner. Perhaps she is the reason his heart started murmuring. The weight of the loss had finally broken him. 

Tucker died in my novelist’s lap. He just fell asleep and never woke up again. My novelist went out to the car a little later. She says she saw a small white butterfly flit around the passenger side window. Perhaps that was his way of saying goodbye.

Our home is much quieter now. I used to start barking and that would get Tucker barking, but I don’t feel the urge to bark much these days. A little here and there usually when UPS drives by. But not as much as I did. I go about my daily routine. I go for walks. I lie around the house. Mostly I just feel a little sad. I know things will get better with time and I know he will never be forgotten. I feel sorry about the way I treated him sometimes. But I guess there is something to be said about love meaning never having to say you’re sorry. And he loved me. And I loved him.

-Gigi the parti poodle

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Eighteen

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Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I watched the Oscars last week and it was a most scrumptious event. I did miss the first part of the opening monologue because, as my novelist puts it, I was naughty. I was merely correcting Tucker the Maltese. He needed to know this was an auspicious event. He didn’t even dress for the occasion and yet I am the one who gets a timeout. After that, I was able to see all the awards. The food was delicious even if I was not allowed to have the chocolate. I must put in a request for white chocolate at these events so I can partake as well. But I was rather fond of the crackers that we had. My novelist picked seventeen of the Oscar categories correctly this year, which is not bad. She has never picked them all correctly, but she did well. We have not had the opportunity to view all the films, but we are hoping to see a few more soon. And on that note, here is chapter eighteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Eighteen

Curtis snuck up the street near the Dupree residence. He was dressed all in black including a knit hat and leather gloves with the hopes that no one would notice him or catch him on surveillance. He had the ransom note carefully packed in a large Ziploc bag. He located the neat even row of mailboxes and found the one with the numbers which corresponded with the Dupree household. He took out his keychain which had a small black nano light attached to it and shined it on the numbers to locate the correct box. He found it rather quickly and reached for the knob.

Suddenly, a large racoon leaped onto the Dupree mailbox. The racoon leaned in and stared intensely at Curtis. Startled, Curtis yelped, jumped back and examined the masked intruder. He waved his hand at the animal. “Get out of here, stupid racoon.” The racoon hissed at him. A rare thing as racoons do tend to be non-aggressive animals. Curtis could not remember the last time he had seen such a sadistic looking racoon. “Go!” he half whispered at the thing swatting his hand in its face.

The racoon did not take kindly to the swatting and swatted back catching Curtis on the left cheek with its paw. Curtis grabbed his face and ducked as the racoon continued to claw at him. Curtis glanced down and noticed a half-full bottle of water lying on its side on the ground someone had carelessly discarded when they came out to retrieve their mail. Curtis reached down and grabbed it. Between ducking the racoon’s claws, he worked the cap off and hurled the contents in the animal’s face.

Curtis’s defense gave the racoon a good scare and it jumped off the mailbox and scurried into the night. Curtis grabbed the handle of the mailbox and opened the magnetic door. He carefully removed the ransom note from the plastic bag and attached it to the outgoing mail clip. Then he slowly closed the mailbox and hurried back to his Honda.

He’d parked the car a few blocks away with the hope no cameras would see him or suspect he had done something nefarious. He climbed inside, started the engine, slowly backed the car up, and turned down the quiet suburban road.

Curtis pulled into the driveway of his Aunt Odette’s cabin. He eased the Honda up to the garage, opened the door and parked. He had not turned the porch light on to deter attention and had to be careful traversing from the garage to the cabin. A tremendous wave of pride overcame him as he stepped inside. He had succeeded. He had managed to deliver the ransom note. Now all he had to do was make sure Fia was still secure in the attic.  

He retrieved his flashlight and bear mace and headed upstairs. “Fia,” he said as he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.” He opened the door and posed in his policeman stance with his mace in one hand and his flashlight in the other ready for trouble. He scanned the room with the flashlight and found Fia standing near some of his aunt’s old dresses.

“I’ll bet you were close to your aunt when you were a kid,” she said.

Curtis flipped on the light switch with his shoulder. “Why do you say that?” he said.

“What did you do when you visited her here?”

“She didn’t always live here. She had a house in the suburbs. A brown rambler with a big back yard and a stone birdbath in the center.”

“What else was in the yard?”

“The fence had paintings on it.”

“She hung paintings on her fence?”

“No, she had a boyfriend named Arbor who painted murals on either side. I remember they were strange but beautiful. Kind of like watery dreams.”

“Did you play outside in the yard much?’

“Now and then. I remember catching bees. I had this jelly jar and I snuck up on a bee sitting on one of my aunt’s roses. I captured it quickly and screwed the lid on tight. The bee started bouncing up and down from the bottom of the jar to the lid. It went back and forth agitated and angry until finally it just gave up.”

“Is that what I am? A bee trapped in your jar?”

“No. No, not at all. There’s a reason, you see.”

“A reason? What reason?”

“The reason is none of your business.”

“It is my business, Curtis. It’s very much my business since you’ve decided to put my life on hold and locked me in an attic. Have you even thought this out, Curtis?”

“Yes, of course I’ve thought it out. I’ve already taken the next step.”

“What’s the next step?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll have to put a zip tie on you again.”

“How am I supposed to go to the bathroom with my wrists bound?’

“If you hadn’t tried to run off maybe I could trust you.”

“You cut the zip tie off so I could eat, and I didn’t try to escape then.”

Curtis studied her for a moment. “I’m still going to zip tie you,” he said.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I need my hands bound in the front.”

“Fair enough.”

Curtis took a zip tie out of his back pocket. “Put your hands out.” Fia put her hands out in front of her. Curtis put the zip tie on them. “Alright, let’s go.”

Curtis led Fia out of the room and down the stairs to the second floor where his Aunt Odette’s bedroom was. Curtis opened the door. All yours.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you standing right outside,” she said.

“I have to make sure you don’t bolt.”

“I won’t. Just give me some privacy, will you.”

“I’ll stand right over there,” he said pointing to the staircase.

“Fine.”

Fia stepped inside and Curtis closed the door behind her. She took note of the window. She used the facilities and turned on the water. She quietly looked down. There was nothing near to climb on to. If she jumped, she would break her leg. She would need to find a way to lower herself down. Right now, she needed to get him to trust her. Fia washed her hands and turned off the water. She noticed his Aunt Odette had a matching hand lotion to go with the soap. It was lovely. Too bad she had to have Curtis for a nephew.

“I’m ready,” she called.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: PAST LIVES (2023)-SHOWTIME

This week’s movie was one of the movies nominated for Best Original Screenplay this year for writer director Celine Song, and although it is not one of my most favorite scripts of the year it is still well penned, properly paced, thoughtful and honest, and well worth the watch. Especially if you are the type of filmgoer who enjoys romance and lean towards more emotional stories.

The story is about two children Nora (Seung-ah Moon) and (Seung-Min Yim). We can tell even at their tender ages there is a strong connection between the two. But Nora’s parents decide to emigrate to Canada where they feel they will have better opportunities.

Twelve years later we Nora (Greta Lee) is living in New York City pursuing her dreams to become a writer. She has become Americanized and is accustomed to living in the hustle and bustle of the western world. She finds that Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) has been trying to find her online. The two reconnect and spend hours conversing. But things become tense when Nora tries to persuade Hae Sung to come see her in New York and Hae Sung tries to persuade Nora to come back to see him in South Korea. Finally, after some time Hae Sung finally goes to New York and the two reconnect over the course of a weekend.

One of the strongest parts of the story is how the two characters don’t just represent human beings but lifestyles as well. Nora is a break from tradition that Hae Sung is apprehensive about taking a chance on and Hae Sung is a re-embracing of Korean culture that Nora is apprehensive about returning to. And these obstacles strain their relationship even though it is clear both are each other’s true love. John Magaro rounds out the cast as Arthur.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Seventeen

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter seventeen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This is Oscar week and I have already been to the groomers and am looking fabulous. My novelist has even gifted me with a sparkly rhinestone collar. I am so delighted to wear it. I am always excited about viewing the gala as there are many delectable horderves and appetizers prepared by…him. They are downright scrumptious. As a poodle I only get to smell them mostly but occasionally a crumb or two might make its way to the floor and then it is heaven. I also enjoy filling out an Oscar ballot and trying to guess who will walk away with the gold. I am researching the Baftas, the Golden Globes, the Art Designer’s Guild Awards, the Costume Designer Guild Awards, the Director’s Guild Awards, the ACE Eddie Awards, and the SAG awards to try and decide which films have the best chance in each category. It is quite a research project. To all of you out there working on your Oscar competitions I wish you the best of luck. And now here is chapter seventeen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Seventeen

Mr. Dupree sat in his Steelcase chair in his home office talking to the police. “She never came back after lunch,” he told Sheriff Bob.

“Well, now,” Sheriff Bob said, “I’d love to help you, Dal but a person isn’t considered missing until it’s been at least twenty-four hours. Unless, of course, the person is under eighteen, which Fia is not.”

“It’s not like her to act this irresponsible. I mean she’s a little irresponsible. All college kids are a little irresponsible. But not to this degree. Her mother and I are deeply concerned. Deeply concerned, Bob. And we want the police looking for her as soon as possible.”

“I know how you feel, Dal. I know how you feel. If it was our Brady, Jill and I would be deeply concerned too.”

“And what would you do if it was Brady?”

“I’d start looking for him immediately. But I’d also know the police couldn’t start looking for him for a full twenty-four hours.”

“That’s absurd. Anything could happen in twenty-four hours. I could fly to Japan and back in twenty-four hours.”

“Well, you’d be going through a lightning-fast TSA line if you did.”

“You know what I mean, Bob.”

“Yes, Dal, I do. But that doesn’t take away from the fact Fia hasn’t been missing for twenty-four hours. Call me at noon tomorrow if she hasn’t shown up. I’ll get a posse together and go on a manhunt to bring Fia home.”

“She could be dead by tomorrow, Bob. My little girl could be dead. Do you have any idea how much I paid to put her through school? Not to mention all those years of theatre classes and long wretched hours of watching plays and listening to kids screw up lines and wander around on stage like donkeys with burrs in their hips.”

“I feel you, Dal. I surely do. But she went missing at noon and I can’t send my officers out to look for her until tomorrow.”

“I hope you shoot off your ass with that gun of yours, Bob.”

“Now, Dal, that’s no way to talk to an officer of the…”

Dallas Dupree hung up. He marched out of his office, down the stairs to the front door where he grabbed his coat and keys, headed into the garage, hopped in his Cadillac, and opened the automatic door.

“Idiot!” he growled as he began driving down the street. “She could be in a dumpster by now! She could be in Tiajuana walking the streets for tricks! She could be in a dirty bus on route to South America with some nutjob soldier of fortune who’s talked her into smuggling Peruvian cocaine into the US!” At least he was out here looking for her hoping by one small chance she might still be in the state, in town, hanging out with those nitwit friends of hers drinking shots of Jägermeister and flirting with imbecilic earwigs who still live in their parent’s basements.

Mr. Dupree headed downtown and pulled into the back parking lot of a sports bar called Deep League and turned off the engine of his silver Cadillac CT5. Deep League was the most popular bar in town, and he knew Fia and Bexley had met up there the night before. He figured if she was hanging out somewhere this was the place. He stepped into the dimly lit establishment. Green bar lights hung over a pool table and a foosball table. A pinball machine stood in the corner. The tables had the local sports team’s logos on the tops and the chairs were wooden with armrests and caster wheels. Loud music blasted from the sound system making him fear he would go deaf.

Mr. Dupree scanned the crowded room for his daughter. There was an ample amount of college aged men and women who had returned home for spring break. You see, Fia, he thought. Not everyone travels to exotic places between quarters. He slowly weaved his way up to the beaten up cherrywood bar with the hope the bartender who was working tonight was the one who worked the night before. “Excuse me,” he said when he arrived.  

The bartender turned around and looked at Mr. Dupree. Mr. Dupree noted the man had a tattoo of an angry black bear clutching an innocent looking bunny by the throat on his right bicep and a tattoo of a punk rock girl sporting a mohawk and smoking a cigarette on the left bicep. “What’ll you have, pops?” the bartender asked.

“I’m looking for a girl.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“No, I mean I’m looking for my daughter. I have a photo of her.” Dallas showed the bartender a recent picture of Fia on his phone.

“She’s hot.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may she’s decided to play hooky from work, and no one’s seen her since lunch. She came in here last night with my receptionist Bexley…”

“Oh, yeah! I know Bexley. She’s cool.”

“The point is Bexley, and my daughter came in here last night, and I was wondering if you’d seen them come in here this evening.”

“Man, I can’t recollect. Although I might be persuaded to search my memory files if you were to encourage me with a tip.”

“A tip? I didn’t order anything. Why should I tip you?”

“Suit yourself, pops. It’s not my daughter who’s missing.”

The bartender turned his back on Mr. Dupree and went about making a Harvey Wallbanger. Mr. Dupree’s face turned beat red. He glared at the bartender’s back. He hated being taken and he knew there was a fifty-fifty chance this guy didn’t remember Fia being in here at all. But he seemed to know Bexley. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“Bartender,” he said.

The bartender turned back around.

“I’ll have a Monkey Shoulder neat.”

“My kind of guy,” the bartender said handing the Harvey Wallbanger to his patron and grabbing a glass. He reached up to the top shelf and took down the bottle of Monkey Shoulder scotch and poured Mr. Dupree his libation. He set the glass on the bar and Mr. Dupree paid for the drink plus a hefty tip.

“Yeah, I saw Bexley and your daughter last night. They came in and ordered a couple of drinks. I remember Bexley ordered an apple martini and your daughter ordered pineapple juice and soda. Bexley was trying to get her to put a little rum in it, but your daughter said no. Said she needed to work the next day. Then they played foosball for about a half an hour.”

“And tonight?”

“Haven’t seen them.”

“Great,” Dallas said sarcastically. “You have been so much help.”

“Thanks for the tip, pops.”

Mr. Dupree downed his scotch, turned on his heel, and left the establishment.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: NYAD (2024)-NETFLIX

This week’s pick is an Oscar nominated biopic about Diana Nyad, a fierce, focused athlete who unabashedly sets out at the age of sixty to swim from Cuba to the Florida Keys.

The film starts out with Diana (Annette Benning in a much-deserved Oscar nominated performance) celebrating her birthday with a surprise party thrown by her best friend and fellow athlete Bonnie Stoll (the always fantastic Jodie Foster in an Oscar nominated performance). Diana had attempted to make the swim from Cuba to Florida in 1978 at the age of twenty-eight but was unable to reach her destination. After celebrating her 60th birthday, Diana decides one way or another to reach her ever elusive goal. She begins training by swimming at the local pool and lifting weights.

She enlists a reluctant Bonnie to be her coach and the two relocate to Florida where they hire John Bartlett (Rhys Ifans) to be their navigator on the boat that will accompany Diana. They set out to make the journey. Determined to swim without a cage she uses a special shark repellant electronic device known as a Shark Shield. Diana finds herself pushed off course by unfavorable ocean currents and she is unable to reach Florida. But Diana is determined to reach her goal and prepares for her third attempt. She finds a box jellyfish expert who gives her a specially designed suit to fight the deadly stinging box jellyfish, her other worst enemy on her journey.

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Sixteen

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good evening. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter sixteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. This week I will be attending the funeral with my novelist. It has been a tiring week with many things to prepare. A funeral is much like a wedding except it must be done faster. It costs about the same. One is better served if one does not die broke. I had no idea how many intricacies were involved from clothes to flowers to obituaries to receptions. It is a methodical affair. I must say I am fortunate to have black and white hair. It seems to go with all occasions whether they be joyful or somber. I enjoy being the center of attention but this time I think I will stay more in the background and let my novelist and her family take the center stage. From what I have learned the southern states have more lavish funerals than those of us in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps we could learn something from them. I’m not sure we take ours seriously enough. And with that thought here is chapter sixteen of Certified Sadistic Accountant.  

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Sixteen

Once Curtis secured Fia in the attic, he decided to assemble the ransom note. He knew an email would be difficult for him to spoof so he decided to do it the old-fashioned way with words cut from magazines pasted to paper. His worry, of course, was DNA. He put on gloves, a shower cap, a face mask and made sure the surface of Aunt Odette’s desk was spotless. He rarely if ever went into his aunt’s office. He unlocked the door (she always kept it locked) and after putting on his gear sat down and got to work.  

After he had left work that evening, he stopped at the local drug store and purchased a pair of tweezers with cash. No one would think twice about someone purchasing a pair of tweezers with cash. Mr. Dupree had been quite agitated with Fia not returning to the receptionist desk after lunch. Curtis figured he was about to get a lot more agitated once he received the ransom note. Curtis stopped at a different store to purchase a package of Elmer’s Glue Sticks and a small ream of ordinary letter paper. He set them on his aunt’s desk while he located a pair of scissors in the desk drawer and sanitized them. He’d chosen a couple of art magazines from a file on his aunt’s shelf. He decided these would do nicely.

He clipped the magazine cuttings first, flipping through pages and searching for the perfect words. Brief and to the point he told himself. Nothing extraneous to give himself away. After he finished cutting out all the words, he carefully set them on a sheet of paper from the ream. Then he removed the tweezers from the packaging and set them on a second sheet of paper. He opened the glue sticks and set them with the tweezers.

He fumbled with his gloved hands slowly adhering the words to a third sheet of paper. He realized he needed a second instrument to work with the tweezers to make certain the words pressed down and stuck. He wished he had purchased a second set of tweezers. He scanned around his aunt’s desk. Suddenly, he saw an unsharpened pencil with an unused eraser on it. This would do quite nicely. He carefully cleaned the pencil with a Clorox wipe and let it dry.

He used the eraser to help steady and put pressure on the words so they would stick to the paper. It took him a good hour, but he finally finished the ransom note. He sat back in his chair and admired his artwork. He would let the glue dry while he made dinner for Fia. This time he wouldn’t make the mistake of allowing her to escape.

He removed his rubber gloves, mask, and shower cap, locked the door of the office behind him, and headed into the kitchen. He took an apron off a hook on the wall, put it on and tied it. Late last night he went to the grocery store and purchased enough food to last two weeks. He figured that should be enough time to accomplish his mission.

He turned on the oven to 400 degrees, opened the refrigerator and took out a head of iceberg lettuce, a green pepper, a cucumber, olives, snap peas, and celery. On the counter were a brown paper bag with white mushrooms and a small box of cherry tomatoes. He took a knife from the wood block on the counter and cut off some of the lettuce and chopped it up. He grabbed a ceramic soup bowl from the cupboard and lined the bottom of it with the lettuce. He neatly arranged the vegetables inside the bowl then put the bowl in the refrigerator.

He pulled a tray of chicken tenders out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter. He grabbed a small pan from the bread warmer under the stove, lined it with foil, laid the chicken tenders on it and seasoned them with lemon pepper. Then he put the pan in the oven.

He located a wide stemmed glass in the cupboard and stuck it into the refrigerator to chill. He got out a fork from the silverware drawer and a cloth napkin from the cabinet beneath. He folded the napkin so he could slip the fork into it. Napkin folding was something his Aunt Odette had taught him when he was in middle school. She was determined not to have an ill-refined nephew. He found a tray under the counter and set the napkin-wrapped fork on it.

The timer went off and Curtis removed the chicken from the oven. He took a spatula from the large silver cylindrical utensil holder his aunt had on the counter near the stove, grabbed an oven-mitt and took the pan of chicken out of the oven. He lifted the chicken tenders off the pan and set them on a wooden cutting board. He grabbed a knife out of the wooden block and proceeded to cut the chicken tenders into bite-sized pieces. Curtis took the chilled salad out of the refrigerator and with a set of metal tongs he arranged the bite-sized pieces on the salad. He set the salad on the tray with the napkin and fork, stuck a bottle of balsamic vinaigrette dressing in one of the deep front pockets of his apron, stuck his bear mace in the other and headed upstairs to the attic.

This time Curtis was prepared for an escape attempt. He knocked on the door and said, “Fia, I’ve brought you something to eat.” Curtis opened the door, flipped on the light, and quickly shut the door behind him.

“I’m not hungry,” Fia grumbled.

“I doubt it,” Curtis said. “Right over there against the wall to your left is a table and two chairs.”

Fia sized up the table. “That’s a weird looking table.”

“My aunt made it.”

“Your aunt makes furniture?”

“More or less. She went through a wood phase.” Fia reluctantly lumbered over to the table. She pulled out the chair on the left-hand side and plopped down.

Curtis set the fork he’d placed inside the folded napkin on Fia’s left and placed her salad beside it. “I didn’t know what kind of dressing you liked so I brought a vinaigrette.”

He pulled the bottle of dressing out of the deep front pocket of his apron and set it beside her salad.

“Nothing to drink, huh?”

“I didn’t know what you liked.”

“Do you have Perrier?”

“I’ll check. My aunt usually keeps some stocked in the refrigerator.”

Curtis backed up cautiously keeping his eyes on Fia. She kept her eyes on him as well. He arrived at the door and fumbled for the doorknob behind him. He turned it, hopped out, slammed the door shut and locked it. He hurried downstairs to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Aunt Odette always kept large bottles of Perrier in the refrigerator door. But Curtis saw only one…and it had been opened. He took it out, poured some in a glass and tried it. It was flat. He sighed, poured the remainder down the drain, and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling.

He removed the chilled glass he’d put in the refrigerator, took out ice cubes from the freezer, put the ice in the glass and filled the glass with water from the tap. He carried the glass of water up the stairs to the attic. He knocked on the door and said, “I’ve got your water.” He unlocked the door, pushed it ajar, and quickly flipped on the light with his elbow. Fia glared back at him. “My aunt has run out of Perrier, so I brought you some ice water. He walked over to her and set the glass down on the table.

Fia studied the beverage. “Don’t you have a SodaStream to put some fizz in this?”

“No.”

Fia took a sip of the water. “Augh,” she said. “It tastes like water.”

“I’ll see if I can get you some Perrier.”

“I’d prefer San Pellegrino. In a glass bottle, not a plastic one.”

“I’ll get what I can get.”

“And some fresh lemons to go with it would be great.”

“Enjoy your food,” he said and turned to leave.

“Did you bring me here because no one will date you?”

“What? No.”

“It’s what everyone in the office thinks.”

“I don’t care what everyone in the office thinks.”

“You brough me here because you can’t get a date.”

“Shut up about my sex life.”

Fia slammed down her fork. “What am I supposed to talk about? I’m locked up in your weird aunt’s attic and I’m bored. I have nothing to do. I’ll talk about whatever I want to talk about.”

“What do you mean you have nothing to do? I thought you were a performance artist. You’re in a room filled with props and clothes and art my aunt collected and you tell me you’re bored. How did you manage to earn a scholarship? Look around, come up with an idea and stage a show for all I care.”

Curtis turned around, marched out the door, slammed it shut and locked it. Then he headed down the stairs. He unlocked his aunt’s office and dropped down in the desk chair. What did she know? Besides he had an envelope to prepare, and a ransom note to deliver. 

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: THE AFTER (2023)-NETFLIX

This week’s pick is another nominated short live action film from Netflix. And I should warn you it is a harrowing one. A man and his young daughter are spending an ordinary day out and about in London. And then something unexpected happens that changes their lives forever. It is not a story for the faint of heart, but it is a strong one and a quick watch at eighteen minutes.

Gigi’s Respite

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here. On a normal Thursday I would be posting the next chapter of my story. But I will not be doing that today because I have some sad news. My novelist’s father passed away this week and she and I are taking a respite so we can take care of all the necessary arrangements. After much deliberation we decided to forgo posting our usual Thursday blog. We will return next week with chapter sixteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant and another stream of the week from my novelist. Until then, I bid you adieu.   

Certified Sadistic Accountant Chapter Fifteen

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment

Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to present chapter fifteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I hope everyone had a very Happy Valentine’s Day. A bit of trivia about Valentine’s Day is in Germany poodles are often given as gifts.

That is not right. They do not give out poodles as gifts on Valentine’s Day.

What would you know of it you rotten Maltese?

They do not give poodles or anything poodle as gifts traditionally. They give pigs.

They…pigs?

Yes. It is a Valentine’s Day tradition to give pigs and pig-themed presents as gifts in Germany.

Why?

Pigs are considered a sign of wealth and lust in Germany. I like pigs. I had a friend who was a pig once. We went to the carnival together. It was fun.

I never remember you having a pig as a friend.

We used to share cotton candy. It was cute when she got some of the cotton candy stuck on her nose. She liked the bumper cars and the merry go round. She was not fond of the bouncy house, however. She said when she was a piglet she was at a party once with a bunch of other piglets and the bouncy house blew up into the sky and hit a small biplane.

Good grief! Were they hurt?

No.

Yes, well…and with that thought here is chapter fifteen of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. Alles Gute zum Valentinstag.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Fifteen

Curtis crept towards the attic door. He checked his grip on the bear mace in his right hand and the flashlight in his left. He crisscrossed his arms as if he were a cop. He listened at the door. He didn’t hear a sound. Slowly, he lowered the flashlight and bear mace to the floor. His hands shook as he tried to unlock the door. But he succeeded. The lock opened, he turned the knob and quickly grabbed the flashlight and the bear mace. He entered and scanned the room.

“Fia,” he called.

Silence.

“Show yourself, Fia,” he called as he backed up to the wall. He attempted to turn on the light switch with his shoulder but to no avail. He tried flipping it on again, scanning the room as he did.

“Fia!”

Still no answer.

He crept forwards scanning the room with the flashlight and mace. Suddenly, something moved behind him. He whipped around and saw Fia bolt for the door. He fired the mace at her, but he missed. She tripped on a small sculpture before regaining her balance and springing towards freedom. Curtis fired the bear mace again but only succeeded in spraying the back of her head. She rounded the corner and raced for the stairs. Curtis followed in a hot pursuit and headed down after her.

“Fia!”

Fia hit the bottom of the stairs and rushed into the living room. Curtis had not turned on the lights and she fumbled around in the dark for the exit. Suddenly, she tripped on the large lip-shaped couch and lost her balance. She struggled to her feet, but Curtis had made it to the bottom of the stairs. Frantically feeling her way around, she skittered behind the couch and hid.

“Fia!” Curtis yelled again as he rushed into the living room. “Fia!” He resumed his cop stance with his flashlight and bear mace. He fumbled in the dark to the floor lamp beside the chair/bookcase, carefully switched the bear mace to his right hand and turned on the light. His eyes darted around as he returned the bear mace to his right hand.

Behind the lip-shaped couch Fia held her breath. She hoped Curtis would leave the room and search the kitchen so she could bolt for the front door. She gently moved her hand under the couch, but she could tell there was no clearance, no way to crawl under and hide.

The beam of the flashlight scanned the top of the lip couch. Fia waited. She felt like an escaped prisoner trying to hide from a searchlight. She heard the blood pulsing in her head. She pricked her ears and listened for what he was doing. Was he toying with her? Did he already know she was there? Was he waiting for her to make the wrong move? Suddenly, she heard him head towards the door, open it, open the screen door, and then shut them both. She heard his footfalls on the front steps. Then there was silence.

She wanted to cry. She couldn’t stand the tension much longer. She worried if she ran for the door, he would ambush her. If she crept out from behind the couch, he’d see her through the windows. She looked to her left. There was not much space between her and the wall. She could squeeze over behind the green couch on the opposite side of the room. The problem was she couldn’t hide under or behind it because the high clearance of the legs would make it easy to see her. She peaked out from the right side of the couch and peered out the front window. It was too dark to locate Curtis. She looked over to her right at the kitchen and tried to guess how easy it would be to get there. If she could get through it, she could head for the exit facing the lake and run for freedom. But she would have to run fast, very fast if she was going to make it.

She considered turning off the floor light, but Curtis might not be far from the front door and could rush back into the house. She’d have to hope she could outrun his sight. She took a deep breath as she counted to four, exhaled as she counted to four. She turned carefully, faced the kitchen, and took off.

Curtis, who had been standing outside in the shadows close to the door, saw the moment he’d been waiting for and caught her movement out of the corner of his eye. He darted around the side of the house just in time to see Fia burst out of the back door and make a beeline for the lake. Curtis had never been athletic and quickly realized Fia was faster. But he was tenacious and headed after her as fast as his tennis shoes would take him.

Fia felt Curtis pounding up behind her and set her sights on the nearest house in hopes its owners would be home. She saw a light in the one to the left and sprinted towards it. “Help!” she yelled. “Help me!” She turned the corner and plowed up the steps to the neighbor’s porch facing the lake. She pounded on the door and rang the bell. “Help! Help!” But no one came to the door.

Lights went on in the neighbor’s house to the left, however. Curtis caught this immediately and as soon as Fia ran down the steps and sprinted for the house on the right, he jumped in front of her, shined the flashlight in her eyes and sprayed her in the face with mace finally hitting his target.

Fia screamed and held her face as Curtis hurried up and grabbed her from behind. She fought back lashing out at him blindly. She palm-heeled him in the cheek just missing his nose. The strike hurt him, but he stayed focused and grabbed her around the waist and wrestled her to the ground.

“Stop struggling, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“You already hurt me!”

“Shut up. We’re going to get up and go back to the house.”

“No!”

“I’ve got a lot more mace in this can. I can keep this up all night.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t if you get up and go back to the house.”

“You’re not locking me in that attic again.”

“You’re not running away again.”

Curtis reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip tie. He put her hands together and secured them. He got up, pulled her to her feet and started leading her back to the cabin.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON (2023)-APPLE TV+

One of the strangest Oscar snubs this year was Leonardo DiCaprio’s superb performance as the complex villainous lead in this historic crime story. The film, based on David Gran’s book Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI, tells the terrifying true story set in 1920’s Oklahoma where oil was discovered beneath land belonging to the Osage Nation. The Osage became wealthy from the valuable resource and were able to purchase expensive cars, fine jewelry, and send their children to private Europe schools. But members of the tribe mysteriously begin to die, many by violent means.

William King Hale (Robert De Niro) is the reserve deputy sheriff and a cattle rancher of the Osage. He is also a crime boss, politician, and garden variety psychopath. He owns a large ranch thanks to the fortune he amassed through insurance fraud and unfair trade with the Osage. He seeks to grow his fortune by having his nephews Byron Burkhart (Scott Shephard) and Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) marry female Osage and take their fortunes. Ernest has just returned from fighting in WWI and finds settling down with a wealthy wife appealing.

In between nightly rounds of robbing Osage at gunpoint with his brother Byron, Ernest begins working as a chauffeur for Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone in an excellent Oscar nominated performance). The relationship soon turns romantic, and he asks her to marry him. But Mollie begins to realize things aren’t quite right and the Osage enlists the help of the government to investigate the murders of their family members including Mollie’s sister Anna (Cara Jade Myers). The government agrees and sends FBI agent Tom White (Jesse Plemons) and his fellow assistants to investigate.

Although this is a solid film it does tend to run a little long and may have benefited from tightening up the story and shortening the film by about thirty minutes. That said, it’s worth watching for its historical significance, the cinematography, the costume design, and the excellent performances.

~ gigicatchesair ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
You get some great, amazingly fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?
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I would have my novelist make an appointment with the groomers so I would look good for the picture on the back of my book and be ready for my close up.