| BOOKS BY ARTHUR G. SLADE |
|---|
Draugr
The Haunting of Drang Island
"Casey...you're missing a finger." This is the starting
point of a road movie type of novel about Casey Shea, a man destined to
quit his job and drive west. Often funny and insightful, I hope it brings
a smile to your face. It's available now from Trafford Publishing. Take
a peek at the first chapter.
"Casey--you're missing a finger."
Her name was Violet. My first ever blind date with a
Chinese woman had just begun and we were already into
forbidden topics.
I used my chopstick as a pointer. "You've got a piece
of noodle dangling on your lower lip."
She smiled, made no attempt to wipe it away. Her face
was smooth and child-like, immaculate except for the fact
that her right eye was noticeably larger than her left;
perhaps when she was born the doctor had pulled down the
skin to get a better look at her pupils and it had never
returned to normal.
Oops, sorry `bout that. I'm sure this is covered
under our insurance.
Violet squinted at me. "You seem uncomfortable."
"It's hot in here."
"Don't you want to talk about your finger?"
"Perhaps later."
She wiped her lip with a napkin, seemed to be hiding
a smile. "I'm sorry if I've offended you."
My shoulder muscles were tightening into Gordian
knots--I was turtling, an age old response. "No, it's a
long story...that's all. Maybe some other time. Oh--a
new course is here." An oriental waiter padded up to
our table, setting down a dish of vegetables. Violet
whispered something to him in Chinese and he went away
chuckling. Was it about me?
Welcome to club paranoia. I'll be your host
tonight. The name's Casey Shea.
"So where did you say you work?" I asked.
"Nowhere. I'm just visiting a cousin of mine." She
paused. "Have you ever done anything wild?"
"What?"
"I'm just wondering if you ever release yourself.
You seem a little stolid...in a good way. Do you ever
just dive right into life and take a big bite?"
"Well...yes, of course...no not really."
"Which is it?"
"Both...uh...neither."
"You know what?" She was looking directly into my
eyes now. I couldn't help but squirm. "You've got one
of those tragic drama faces: thin nose, a cleft chin,
gaunt cheeks. I can see your future written all over
your features." She leaned even closer, perhaps was
going to pull out a magnifying glass. "The planets are
shifting in your favor," she whispered.
"The planets? Is this my horoscope?"
Violet had retreated. "Not quite. I see things,
that's all. Change is coming."
"Oh." Our third course arrived, via the same
smiling waiter. Perhaps it was time for me to point out
that I was psychic too--I already knew this date would
end in disaster. The fact I found her attractive sealed
my doom. My only hope now was not to make the headlines
of the Saskatoon Star Phoenix: Man goes on date. Twelve
people die. A whole city block destroyed.
Ah, but again I was counting my grenades before
they exploded. "You know," I said, jabbing my fork
into a piece of chicken, "I'm not the boring person
you think I am. Strange things happen to me all the
time. Some of them are almost interesting." I brought
the chicken to my mouth, started chewing, swallowed.
"In fact, I have my very own, personal st--"
My mouth stopped working. It wasn't chicken I had
just consumed, it looked similar, tasted like it, but
it was really a burning coal.
"Casey?"
"Ch-ch-chicken," I gasped.
"You have your very own personal chicken? Kinky!"
"No...hot, hot...chicken."
Then I grabbed my glass of water and promptly
splashed it on my face and down the front of my shirt.
"Excuse me," I blurted, darting for the bathroom, my
eyes swamped with tears.
I missed the door by inches. The wall kindly
stopped me. I leaned on it for a moment, felt my head,
then rolled into the washroom, collapsed next to the
sink and cranked on the taps.
The chickens of the world were out to get their
revenge. After almost twenty years they were still
mad about one little day at the chopping block.
I dowsed my face with water, then drank like a
dried up camel. Everything cooled. I stepped back and
looked in the mirror--my hair was pointing at the roof.
Whoa, hello, Einstein!
I had been about to tell Violet about my very own
personal stalker--my albatross, as it were. The man who
had a penchant for slashing the tires on my Volvo and
leaving scrawled notes like: Caw! Yu ir 2 blame fir
evryting!
The burning chicken had been a message: don't tell
anyone about him or things will get worse.
It took me at least five minutes to clean myself up.
When I walked out of the bathroom the entire population
of the restaurant turned to stare.
I bowed.
Then I looked past them to the table. No Violet.
All I saw was a ten dollar bill next to an empty soup bowl.
I asked the waiter about her, but he only shrugged.
He still had a Cheshire grin.
I paid for my meal and ducked out onto the street.
All in all it was probably the best blind date I
had ever been on.
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