Sea Legs: 6.24.06

Day one of our story was a success, and K’lee and I are pleased with how Sea Legs is progressing. We had a few contributors to our on-the-fly story, and we’re grateful how well it’s been received. Some major talent out there… the authors’ names and websites have been added accordingly. Please check them out!

I’ll pick the story up tomorrow and see where it goes from there. No one knows, not even its originators, and that’s part of the fun. Jump in if you like.

I’ll keep each post fresh with that day’s additions rather than updating the entire story. They’ll be dated for freshness. And we would like to sincerely thank everyone who’s been  following Sea Legs so far, and, of course, to our contributors.

And so today’s installment:


I kissed her hard. She wasn’t expecting it, and one of her words got caught in my throat. It was ‘no’.

I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, Mr. Carlisle, but that’s not it. Do you want the job or not? You’re just a name on a scrap of paper to me.”

I thought about it. Sure, I made a mistake about the kiss, but who could blame me? That splash of freckles on her shoulders, and that windswept hair, the color of spilled bourbon; they were distractions. Looking at her, you’d never know she was a widow twice over and a soon-to-be divorcée . She kept the gunpowder makeup to a minimum, and her legs were a mile long. She had lousy taste in men, and I went ahead and proved it. Did I want the job? Did the pope want a hat?

Sure. I need the dough up front, though. Expenses and incidentals.”

I don’t pay for your whiskey and whores,” she said. Her voice was as flat as a stick of gum.

Film for the Brownie, and gas for the Buick,” I said. “Gas isn’t cheap, and neither is shoe leather.”

I’ve seen your shoes. I’m not impressed. A hundred now, a hundred when I get the pictures. Quality pictures. Pictures that show everyone he’s a son-of-a-bitch.”

My specialty,” I said.

That’s what the scrap of paper said. When can you start?”

I thought about it. It was an easy job, and I could do it in my sleep. But she might be a complication. Those legs and that hair. That splash of freckles on her shoulders. “Tomorrow,” I said, and she handed me the envelope. (Steve)

I took the envelope, and as I walked away, I could see the flash of anger, mixed with emotion in her eyes, those freckles flushed a little with emotion. I knew she wanted to expose that son of a bitch, but exposing him meant facing the hurt of another failed marriage. (Alexis Rose


It was Gin, not whiskey and the pint was empty after the second swallow. Bitter and just a bit too cold. The other bottle was hiding behind the papers from the courthouse and the Colt.

Somehow I managed to avoid the ditch as I fumbled in the glove box but the revolver tumbled to the floorboard, ignored when my fingers found the smooth glass of the backup resting under a folded Esso roadmap.

Whiskey, my dear, is for old ladies,” I said to myself.

But the Gin only made the trip seem longer. More time to ponder on those damn freckles….

(Mike Fuller

Is your Mr. Carlisle going to be a problem?”

No. W-What makes you say that? He kissed me is all. A man like him all but assures us success in this venture”, purred Mathilda, drawing a slim platinum cigarette case from her oversized Hermes bag. “You tell Mr. Ito everything is going according to the plan. In a week’s time, we’ll not only have his initial half mil, we’ll toss in a bonus quarter simply because we can.”

All right, Mattie”, sighed Jonah. I won’t arrive in San Francisco until Sunday. That gives you three days to solidify this thing, then-

Relax, honey”, Mathilda laughed, balancing her phone between her mink-clad shoulder and her diamond-studded right ear as she looked out over the nighttime sparkle of the Golden Gate Bridge from her suite’s bay windows. “Everything, and I do mean everything will be just fine.” (K’lee

I parked my car on the street across from the house; I had said that I’d start the job the next day, but there was no sense in showing up unprepared. A few minutes getting the lay of the land can go a long way towards a smooth operation. I pulled film out of a box in the back seat of the car. She has two dead husbands and she wants to ruin the third, I thought to myself as I jammed the film clumsily into the camera and took another swill of gin. Either she’s a gold digger, or she has the worst luck in husbands. I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Cloves. Hell or high water, I always smoked cloves. And if those first two men were nudged into death a little early, she might also be one cold bitch. I fumbled the first cigarette onto the floorboard, but managed to get the second into my mouth. My zippo lighter flashed in the darkness. The hell if I care, I concluded, those damn legs won’t stop walking circles around my mind. Anderson Ryle








Author: Steven Baird

Writer, amateur photographer, ad compositor and chicken herder.

8 thoughts on “Sea Legs: 6.24.06”

    1. Really liking this unfolding. Thanks for the encouragement and for being the de factor ‘editor’. I’ll search out another photo or two for future additions and get them to you via email.

      Liked by 1 person

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