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    Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service
    Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service
    Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service
    Ebook211 pages2 hours

    Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service

    By Stu Jenks

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    About this ebook

    Book Four of Stu Jenks' Step Zero series.
    Sex, drugs, and bluegrass music in the year 2079.
    Victor Mothershead is haunted by a professional failure and ready to retire from the Service, but then the lights go out again.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateJul 1, 2016
    ISBN9780996084086
    Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service

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      Book preview

      Victor Mothershead - Stu Jenks

      Service:

      A cautionary note from the author:

      You hold in your hot little hands, either as an e-book or as a real-live-book-book, the fourth installment in my Step Zero series, but I believe some polite warnings to readers are needed here, given questions and concerns I have received in the past.

      This is a stand alone novel but if you haven’t read Step Zero, the first book, or Air & Gravity, the second book, some of the plot twists, suspense reveals and arch conclusions here may spoil some of your enjoyment of those two previous books, if and when you read them. (Balthazar and Zeeba, the third book in the series, is a Christmas novel with its own individual side arch, which will not be affected by reading Victor Mothershead.)

      Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service is a hard R rated book as are Step Zero and Air & Gravity. There is a ton of cussing and a bit of sex in this book. Victor himself is a polite, soft spoken man who rarely speaks profanity but in the Step Zero world of 2079, particularly in the American Southwest, folks cuss like sailors on drunken leave and have sex like they will never ever screw again. It’s just how my characters roll. So if foul language and hot sex upset you, thanks for buying this book but you might want to give it to your college nephew to read. (Regarding the age appropriateness of this book, 17 years old and above seems about right. Use your best judgment. You know your kids.)

      Many of my characters in the Step Zero universe believe in a spiritual force called God-Goddess-All-There-Is or GGATI. It’s a made up higher power by me, not affiliated with Wiccan or Pagan faiths (Not that there is anything wrong with those.) I was simply trying to expand the spirituality and religiosity of 2079 to include a specific feminine side as well as the masculine and universal aspects.

      The politics of many of these characters is progressive and in some cases, specifically Democratic. The Presidents mentions in the Step Zero series are all Democrats. If you are a Republican or an Independent, and don’t agree with some of the policies mentions in this book, relax. It’s OK. This is speculative fiction. It’s the United States in the year 2079. I’ve just made this stuff up. Sasha Obama of course is a real young women today, but President Sasha Obama Fulbright and Vice President Florence Biden are completely made up people. You don’t have to agree with the politics here to enjoy this read. The characters are fun, the story I think is strong, and did I mention there is sex in this book?

      Lastly, 12 Step fellowships play a major role in many of the characters’ lives in Victor Mothershead, U.S. Secret Service; one, a real program, Alcoholics Anonymous, the other, a fictional one, Mormon Tea Anonymous. None of the characters here represent any living or dead members of Alcoholic Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Cocaine Anonymous, Al-Anon or any other 12 Step groups. That being said, I have talked with many clean and sober members of these fellowships over the years and I have attended a few 12 Step meetings myself, but I will neither confirm nor deny if I personally belong to those groups. There are by-laws regarding anonymity of members speaking publicly. The problem is, if you thought I was in A.A., or C.A., or N.A., and you hated this book or disliked me personally or think in any way I poorly represent a particular recovery program, you might feel reticent to seek help from those 12 Step programs if you ever needed it. They tell me these by-laws or ‘Traditions’ are there to protect the fellowships from its own members’ mistakes, yet recovering people want very much to be available and to help everyone, regardless of gender, race, color, creed, economic situation, and political leaning. Bottom line is no one in this book is any one person in A.A., but the views of some of the characters do reflect the beliefs of some members of those Fellowships.

      I truly hope you enjoy this book. I’ve enjoyed making it for you.

      Keep your lamp trimmed and burning, and as President Fulbright often said: Be nice.

      Stu Jenks

      April Fools’ Day, 2016

      Studio BR-549

      Tucson, Arizona

      Victor Mothershead, U.S. Secret Service

      Tuesday, July 7th, 2076: 5:17 p.m.

      Outside New Chicks Coffee Shop

      Downtown Tucson, Arizona

      I can’t stop the bleeding.

      We’ll get to back to Air Force One as soon as we can, Madame President, I say.

      Very good, says the President. Now would you look at those clouds, and that big blue sky.

      I look away for a second to see what she sees.

      Yes, Madame President, I say. It is a very beautiful blue sky. Now try to relax.

      For Pete’s sake, Victor, she says. Call me Sasha. I’ve been trying to get you to call my by my first name, for what? Twenty some years?

      Twenty-two years to be exact, Madame President.

      I then see a drop of rain fall on President Sasha Obama Fulbright’s face. Then another and a third.

      Cover the President’s face, I shout.

      Agent Hansbrough opens an umbrella over the two of us.

      Please, Victor, she says. Just once. Say my first name.

      The President chokes up some blood. I press harder on the wound on her neck. Damn it, I can’t fix this.

      Try not to talk, Madame President.

      She looks at me with that stern look that says I-mean-it-Agent-Mothershead. I smile. I love it when she gives me that look. At least once a week for the last twenty years.

      OK, Madame President, I say. I will say it but I won’t like it.

      She smiles.

      Sasha, I say.

      I like the sound more than I thought I would.

      Sasha, I say again, we’ll be taking you back to Air Force One, and we’ll get you stitched up.

      The President closes her eyes. Her smile broadens.

      Thank you, Victor, she says.

      You’re welcome, Sasha I say, now just rest. Just...Madame President?

      I notice she isn’t breathing.

      Madame President? I yell. Sasha? John, put some pressure on her neck. Now!

      Yes, sir, says Agent Hansbrough.

      I kneel beside Sasha and begin doing chest compressions.

      One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

      I bend over and place my cheek close to her mouth to listen for her breath. I put a finger on her bloody neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. Back to compressions.

      One. Two. Three. Four. Five, I say.

      Please, Sasha, come back.

      ...Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve…

      Come back to us.

      ...Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen…

      Please, Madam President.

      ...Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty...

      Come back to me.

      Victoria Vicky Mothershead

      Thursday, December 28th, 2079: 3:13 p.m.

      Rappahannock General Hospital

      Kilmarnock, Virginia

      I really messed up your Christmas, didn’t I?

      Not at all, Vicky, says my brother, I was just holed up in my apartment, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

      I do know this for sure, I say. I haven’t given you your Christmas present.

      And for that, I am eternally grateful, he says.

      For once, don’t be such a Scrooge, I say. I have a gift for you and you’re going to take it, either now or after I’m gone.

      The smile falls from my brother’s face. I hear only the beeping of my oxygen machine. I wish I hadn’t said the word ‘gone.’

      Sorry, Twinkie, I say. I didn’t mean to say that…

      It’s OK, he says, except for you calling me Twinkie.

      I laugh and then I cough. Some spit shoot out my mouth and lands on the back of my hand. I wipe it on the bed sheet.

      I hate when I do that, I say.

      My brother pulls a tissue from the bed side table and wipes my mouth. His eyes looks so tired, his hair so gray now.

      Now that’s odd.

      So, are you growing an afro or do you just need a haircut?

      I haven’t decided yet, he says.

      Don’t they frown upon ‘fros in the Service?

      Victor shrugs, then looks down at this hands. He rubs his knuckles. That’s never a good sign.

      What’s up, bro? I ask.

      I think I might put in my papers, he says. I hit the magic 25 years last June. Seems I’ll make more take-home pay if I retire then if I keep on working.

      But you’ve never done it for the money, I say. What will you do with yourself?

      I don’t know, he says. I’m just tired, and it’s really different now being on President Biden’s detail. She’s a wonderful woman and I like her a lot but she isn’t…

      He doesn’t have to finish the sentence and I won’t finish it for him. I miss Sasha Fulbright too. Heck, the most of the country still does.

      I’m just ready to do something else, he says. Maybe I’ll ride the Amtrak for a while or walk the earth like Cain. I’ve seen much of the country but it’s been mostly from the air. Vicky, I’m just tired.

      We don’t say anything for a while. We just look out the hospital window at the snow in the trees. I’m going to miss snow.

      Well, I say, taking a deep breath. It’s time for your present.

      Victor sighs.

      Must I?

      Yes, I say. You must. Now get up out of that chair and go to that closet there.

      He rises out of the deep hospital chair, groaning as he stands up. He and I may be only 49 but we’ve both been ridden hard and hung up wet, myself working 20 years as a nurse at this very hospital and my brother looking after Presidents of The United States. My brother opens the closet door and pulls out my mandolin case with a big red bow taped to it.

      I want you to have my Gibson, I say. You’ll get it in a few days anyway, but I wanted to give it to you in person.

      Are you sure? he asks. Don’t you want to play it anymore?

      I don’t have the strength in my hands now, I say, plus it’s a better mandolin than the one you play.

      Now, Vicky, my Gold Tone is a fine instrument, he says. Don’t you be saying anything bad about Roberta.

      Wouldn’t think of it, I say laughing, but you know darn well this F5 has longer sustain than Roberta.

      Twinkie nods.

      That is true, he says.

      I cough. My brother wipes my mouth again. A little blood this time, judging from the redness on the tissue.

      Damn it.

      I’m sorry, says my brother.

      It’s not your fault.

      I know, he says, I’m just sorry about everything.

      Me too.

      I touch his hand.

      Take my mandolin, Twinkie, I say, and just play him every once in a while. I’m not trying to break up you and Roberta.

      He puts his large brown hand on top of mine.

      I’ll play him a lot, he says, his eyes moist with tears. Roberta won’t mind.

      You sure?

      We both laugh at that.

      No, I’m not sure, he says.

      He then places the case onto my bed and opens it, revealing my old friend. That dark spruce top with the sunburst finish. I hate to let him go. Victor picks him up and plays an A minor chord.

      I know you like to play open tuning, I say. I’m sure he’ll let you do that.

      What his name again? asks Vic.

      Bobby, I say.

      That’s right, he says, Bobby, after Bobby Kennedy.

      And Roberta after Roberta Flack, right? I say.

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