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Flasher
Flasher
Flasher
Ebook54 pages44 minutes

Flasher

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About this ebook

When hack writer Paul Monk gets invited to an A-lister party by Hollywood icon Pep Larson, he’s in way deeper than he’s used to, soon drowning in the politics, booze, and bullshit. And when he finds out exactly why he’s there, things get even trickier.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 8, 2012
ISBN9781476117324
Flasher
Author

Terry Hayman

Raised in five different countries and currently living with his family in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Terry is a full-time writer and actor who accepts struggle, believes in goodness, and seeks truth always.

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    Book preview

    Flasher - Terry Hayman

    Novels by Terry Hayman

    Chasing the Minotaur

    Jessica Falls

    Short story collections by Terry Hayman

    Being Human: 5 heartfelt tales of fantasy and science fiction set on earth

    Off-World: 5 tales of adventure set on other planets

    Dark Paths: 5 short stories exploring the darker sides of human nature

    Life Knots: 5 stories of ordinary people fighting their destinies

    Messed Up: 5 stories of crime and consequences

    Used by Magic: 5 stories of people caught up by powers unseen

    CONTENTS

    Flasher

    Dancing with Attitude

    Excerpt from Jessica Falls

    FLASHER

    Terry Hayman

    Copyright © 2012 by Terry Hayman

    Published by Fiero Publishing at Smashwords

    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 person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Flasher

    Terry Hayman

    Copyright © 2012 Terry Hayman

    Cramming all your research into a story, copying vernacular sound by sound, using language to intentionally offend as many people as possible, even plagiarizing—none of these writing sins began to compare with the one I was about to commit.

    I pulled myself up to standing against the Santa Mariella’s upper bow rails where I’d staggered out this morning, polyester shirt tails flapping. The cold wind that had started last night took my breath away as fast as it had then. I gulped, squinted against the sun, and yelled as loud as I could, "BERTIE!"

    I slapped my hands against my face and took a deep drag of salty air while I waited. Man, I felt ancient. Spread my arms out to fight it, leaning my belly against the rails over the drop to the rushing sea. Look, I can fly, Jack! I can fly! Another deep breath. I had to sober up...sort of. Enough to write without my good sense kicking in.

    Head back. "Ber-r-r-tie-e-e-e!"

    Then I heard the sound of flopping feet as the Honduran fifteen-year-old who’d latched himself onto me my second day aboard this cruise, came running along the side. He wasn’t a writer, had the deficient education of a seventh grade dropout, and probably couldn’t string together a taut, sense-laden sentence if his skinny brown ass depended on it. Presumably he worked in the ship’s galley or laid out the deck chairs or something. Knew the ship, at any rate. Knew the crew. Knew how to get things.

    Mr. Monk, he gasped, clutching the rail beside me as he bent over double, other hand on his bare knee below his shorts. Meester...

    You remember my name, Bertie. Good. I wavered at the rail, half-inclined to copy his bent-over position, to open my mouth and see if I could exorcize from my belly all reminders of last night’s debauchery.

    H-heard you calling, Mr. Monk.

    I need something unusual, Bertie. For...writer’s inspiration, say.

    Whazzat, Mr. Monk? He’d finally caught his breath and was addressing me standing up, dressed in a flapping pink tropical shirt, cargo khaki shorts, and thong sandals. God, he even looked like a cabana boy.

    A skull. Bertie’s eyes went wide and I wiped my hand in the air impatiently. Something old looking. Human. If it’s got a crack in it so much the better.

    I don’t know...

    Damn it! I closed my eyes against the hangover pain that was for some reason just now starting. "I

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