{"id":52,"date":"2012-08-12T20:37:00","date_gmt":"2012-08-12T20:37:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/?page_id=52"},"modified":"2014-08-03T01:15:45","modified_gmt":"2014-08-03T01:15:45","slug":"opening-scenes-mystery","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/?page_id=52","title":{"rendered":"Opening Scenes – Mystery"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"DSCF0018[1]\"<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>Big News!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201c<\/b><\/em>Dead on Cuban Time\u201d is available on Amazon<\/a>.\u00a0 With the help of a beautiful American biologist, Cuban police Lieutenant Enrique Cienfuegos unravels a string of clues that lead him to a government laboratory, and scientists who can kill with impunity to keep their secrets. See my Mystery Series page <\/a>to learn more about the Cienfuegos stories.<\/p>\n

Here are the opening pages of some of my mystery stories.<\/p>\n

Dead on Cuban<\/span> Time<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Police Lieutenant Enrique Cienfuegos tapped his foot on the terra cotta tile beneath his patio table when Havana\u2019s Radio Rebelde broke into an up-tempo version of El Manicero.\u00a0 The small jazz group he sat in with on weekends had played the same tune the night before at a local club, and he still had the beat running through his head.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With one hand he balanced the morning edition of Granma open in front of him and with the other he reached for a sip of cafecito.\u00a0 A light breeze rattled the newspaper, folding the top page over and covering the story he was reading.\u00a0 He looked up at the high, feathery clouds.\u00a0 There would be rain in the afternoon.\u00a0 Not unusual for the fall, but neither the newspaper, nor Cuban state radio would mention rain in the forecast.\u00a0 No one wanted to dampen the spirits of the tourists who were beginning to arrive in numbers in Puerto Morales, and on the more popular Varadero beaches just down the coast.<\/p>\n

Passed the bougainvilleas that grew wild in the courtyard, Enrique heard a muffled string of epithets coming from under the hood of the black and white Lada that served as the station\u2019s patrol car.\u00a0 Private Domingo was fervently pleading with most of the known Catholic saints to help him coerce the aging Russian automobile into running again.<\/p>\n

“Double!”\u00a0 A black and white domino banged down on the metal table next to him.\u00a0 Sergeant Orlando and three of the men were on their second game of the morning, and Enrique overlooked the fact that they were gambling.\u00a0 No one could afford to bet more than a few centavos anyway.<\/p>\n

Out of the corner of his eye, he checked the men\u2019s complexions.\u00a0 Several of them had reported in sick just a day after they started a series of flu vaccinations.\u00a0 The shots were ordered by the Ministry of Health in Havana, but Enrique hated needles.\u00a0 He made sure he was out of the office when the health service doctor paid them a visit, just in case something like this happened.\u00a0 The men who were still healthy would take up their duties after they finished their morning coffee.<\/p>\n

Thankfully, nothing else was happening to disrupt a calm morning.\u00a0 The sun had just started to peek over the red tiled roofs of the cinder block and brown stucco buildings making up the Puerto Morales police station.\u00a0 Overhead, the tops of the royal palms leaned and swayed gracefully with the promise of weather.\u00a0 Maybe it wouldn\u2019t be such a hot one today.<\/p>\n

“What\u2019s in the paper, Quique?” Orlando asked.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “You should address me as ‘Lieutenant\u2019 in front of the men, Sergeant.”\u00a0 He gave Orlando a mock-smile, to show he was at least half-kidding.\u00a0 He wanted to maintain a certain level of discipline, if he could get it without making too many demands.<\/p>\n

“Oooh,” the other men whistled in unison.\u00a0 “Que malo.”<\/p>\n

“Excuse me, sir,” Orlando said.\u00a0 AI meant to say, “What\u2019s in the paper today, Lieutenant Quique?\u2019”\u00a0 The men laughed.<\/p>\n

“That\u2019s better.”\u00a0 Enrique didn\u2019t bother to hide his grin.\u00a0 He had gotten his point across and he didn\u2019t mind it when the men used his nickname, if it didn\u2019t happen too often.\u00a0 He carefully folded the newspaper over and set it on the table.<\/p>\n

“The news today on the Island of Cuba is inspiring, as usual.\u00a0 Sugar production is up sixteen percent over last year, and crimes of theft, which officially don\u2019t exist, are down four and one-half percent.”<\/p>\n

He chose not to mention that the source of the information for the newspaper story was the Cuban Ministry of the Interior.\u00a0 As far as he knew, none of the men at his station was aware that his father was the minister, and he preferred it that way.<\/p>\n

“If sugar production is up again,” Corporal Mollete said, “why can\u2019t we get any in Puerto Morales?”<\/p>\n

“Dollars,” said Corporal Guajiro.\u00a0 “Dollars.\u00a0 All Cuban sugar is being shipped overseas to the Germans and the Canadians, in exchange for what they call ‘hard currency.\u2019\u00a0 Not the miserable peso.<\/p>\n

“And what do we do with this so-called hard currency?” One of the men asked.<\/p>\n

“I know what we do with it.”\u00a0 The sergeant spoke as earnestly as if he had just come from a party meeting in Havana.\u00a0 AI have it on good authority that Fidel rolls each one of those dollar bills up real tight.” He pantomimed with his hands.\u00a0 “Then he uses them, one at a time, to light his cigars.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Frozen Stiff<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Troy Sadowski was pretty sure no one saw him when he wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand.\u00a0 He hadn\u2019t helped a skier get on the K lift in over an hour, and there wasn\u2019t a soul in sight.\u00a0 Who could blame them?\u00a0 Anyone with the common sense of a Cocker Spaniel puppy had gone into town for a hot buttered rum as soon as the storm blew in.<\/p>\n

Shielding his eyes from the fat swirling snowflakes, he peered up at the long line of lift chairs that swung around the pole next to him and disappeared into the slate-gray blizzard.\u00a0 He wondered if the kid working at the top of the lift had snuck off to the new summit house for hot chocolate.\u00a0 It wouldn\u2019t be the first time Troy had been left alone, manning K lift all by himself.<\/p>\n

It was three-fifteen.\u00a0 He\u2019d give it another ten minutes, max.\u00a0 If no one else showed up he\u2019d make an executive decision.\u00a0 He\u2019d telephone the top of the lift, hang a rope over the gate, and call it a day.\u00a0 Then he could hit the town himself.\u00a0 A good night for bar hopping.\u00a0 Maybe do some shooters.<\/p>\n

Shaking snow off the shoulders of his official RockyRidge Associates ski company jacket, he dragged open the door of the warming hut and stepped inside.\u00a0 The box-like shed was so tiny he could easily lean his stool against the back wall and rest the heels of his boots on a window sill in front of him.\u00a0 In that position, he crossed his arms and watched the empty chairs march hypnotically away, into the darkening storm and back.<\/p>\n

*\u00a0 *\u00a0 *<\/p>\n

At That Moment, 2000 feet above<\/span><\/p>\n

I did it for the money of course, but should have known I couldn\u2019t trust anyone in the room.\u00a0 My name is Scott DeLand, and the deal took place in a room at 11,000 feet, on top of Jackson Peak, Colorado, at the RockyRidge Ski Area.\u00a0 The other people in the room were ski company executives and their lawyers.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t work for the ski company, not directly, but they made me an offer too good to pass up.\u00a0 That should have been a warning, but all I saw were dollar signs.<\/p>\n

Accepting the offer got me invited to meetings where people tossed out phrases like \u201cthe need to incentivise stakeholders\u201d and other catchy terms that were quickly forgotten when the next management fad came along.\u00a0 Most of the time I sat near a window, and looked out at the mountains when I got bored.\u00a0 But not that day.<\/p>\n

The room fell silent, which got my attention.\u00a0 Company president Ben Alder leaned over his small podium and took off his half-rim reading glasses.\u00a0 He paused for dramatic effect.\u00a0 Alder was in his seventies, definitely old-school, and he demanded respect.\u00a0 I turned away from the view and focused on him like I\u2019d been listening to him the entire time.<\/p>\n

When he spoke, Alder sounded like a general making sure his troops wouldn\u2019t disappoint him in the heat of battle.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt the end of the day, ladies and gentleman, I expect your work on the Bristlecone Ranch development to net our company at least six hundred\u00a0and fifty million dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

My jaw dropped.\u00a0 Even for a destination ski resort it was an embarrassingly large amount of money, and four and one-half percent of it could be mine, before expenses.\u00a0 I stopped myself from reaching for a calculator, but I did some quick math on a notepad while Alder told everyone again how important the project was to him.\u00a0 I stared at the numbers.\u00a0 If this deal went through I vowed it would be my last.\u00a0 No more real estate.\u00a0 No more law practice.\u00a0 I would take early retirement.\u00a0 I wouldn\u2019t live like a sultan, mind you, but I would be comfortable.\u00a0 Very comfortable.\u00a0 My eyes glazed over as the sweet notion that I could give up working for a living flowed through my veins like heroin.<\/p>\n

Just then another snowball smacked against the window next to me.\u00a0 My hand jerked and I broke off the tip of my pencil lead.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t need to look up to know what was going on.\u00a0 Every few minutes a laughing pig, a weeping clown, or a screaming witch skied up, banged on the window next to my table and shouted a muffled curse at everyone in the room.\u00a0 The pigs, clowns and witches were Halloween masks worn by some seriously pissed off ski instructors.\u00a0 They were picketing RockyRidge Associates, Inc.\u00a0 And me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0Big News!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cDead on Cuban Time\u201d is available on Amazon.\u00a0 With the help of a beautiful American biologist, Cuban police Lieutenant Enrique Cienfuegos unravels a string of clues that lead him to a government laboratory, and scientists who can kill with impunity to keep their secrets. See my Mystery Series… Continue reading → <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-52","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=52"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":55,"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52\/revisions\/55"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stevenmoores.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=52"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}