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Term Limit
Term Limit
Term Limit
Ebook42 pages36 minutes

Term Limit

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From "Matters Familiar." A scandal-plagued politician contemplates suicide, but checks in with his cousin first to sort things out. Adult language.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 2, 2010
ISBN9781466037359
Term Limit
Author

E. G. Fabricant

E. G. Fabricant is a writer living in San Jose, California, who’s interested in producing short fiction that’s contemporary, topical, and speaks to the human condition.His dormant interest in this pursuit was rekindled when he was selected as one of 10 finalists in the International Category of the Mark Twain Writing Competition: “A Murder, a Mystery, and a Marriage,” sponsored by the Buffalo and Erie County Public Library.E. G.'s determined to become the oldest, new best short fiction writer. He’s also interested in hearing from others with similar interests who want to become better at it.

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    Term Limit - E. G. Fabricant

    TERM LIMIT

    E. G. Fabricant

    Published by E. G. Fabricant at Smashwords

    Copyright 2010-2012 by E. G. Fabricant

    Discover other stories by E. G. Fabricant at Smashwords.com.

    Term Limit is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

    Smashwords Edition—License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Recreational soul mates Zev Brannan and Barney Isleton bobbed and dozed in Zev's 18-foot Alumacraft northwest of the pier at Pinole Point, near where the Sacramento River empties into San Pablo Bay. As the silent November dawn cracked behind them, they shared the unspoken hope that not all the King salmon had found their way upriver, pursuing their evolutionary suicides. Sure, they'd settle for a trout or two; truth be told, they were grateful just to be out of the house—and on a Sunday morning to boot. Barney cradled his rod and fished a beer out of the cooler, opening it with some difficulty. Durned arthur-itis. He neglected to rotate the EZ-open tab a quarter turn and it tore out a mustache hair at the first draught. "Gol-DANG it!"

    Zev reeled in his bait, inspected it, and recast. You rather be in church with the old lady this mornin'?

    Point made, Barney said. He stood to stretch, and his eye caught a lumpy mass riding the current about 70 yards to starboard. Hey! What you suppose that is?

    Zev peered through the mist layering the opaque olive waters. Looks like deadfall to me.

    Let's check it out. They laid aside their gear and Zev fired up the Evinrude while Barney hauled in the drift anchor. As they motored alongside, Barney hooked the shape's far edge with a gaff and rolled it over.

    Zev flinched. Mother a God! A male face, handsome in spite of its pale bloat, surfaced, the well-dressed trunk and appendages below it sinking away from it. What do you suppose—

    Hold on a minute, Barney said. "I know this guy!"

    The Commissioner admired the sapphire blue California sky over Vallejo through the front passenger window. All the clouds, it seemed, were inside his head. He studied the pump-action shotgun bracket-mounted vertically above the transmission hump. At the wheel in plainclothes, California Highway Patrol Sergeant Ernesto Nuñez noticed, and prepared himself for the usual question—but with more steel. Ernie: Don't laugh this time; it wouldn't be appropriate.

    So, Ernie,

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