Dust Trail Blues character interviews and a sale...

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Do you like drifters? Do you enjoy seeing what can be made out of gears and springs and other scrap parts? Do you like blackberry ice cream, angst and a hint of mystery. If so, this might be the book for you.

https://www.amazon.com/Dust-Trail-Blues-Layla-Dorine-ebook/dp/B0BKGWF38D?ref_=ast_sto_dp

Good evening Jude. I’m sorry to intrude on your down time but I thought it might be best to catch you now rather than first thing in the morning the way I caught your brother, which he was none too pleased about, might I add.

Heh, yeah, that’s Justice for you. He’ll be the first one to suggest an early opening time and in the same breath express his annoyance with anyone who asks him for anything before ten. If you ask me, it would have been far easier to shift our operating houses from 10-6 than to subject the public to Justice’s grumpy moods first thing in the morning.

So, it wasn’t just me.

Nope, though you probably struck a nerve with that final question you asked him.

Hey, inquiring minds and all that. Now lets shift gears a moment and talk about Nash and finding him on the road the day his bike broke down.

Oh man, it scared the hell outta me, to be honest. I thought he was dead. The way he was slumped over against the rock, I really figured I was about to run up on a corpse. When he lifted his head and looked at me, I was equal parts relieved and shocked that anyone could be that flushed and yet not be sweating up a storm, but I’d later learn that was all part of the condition he suffers from.

So, you offer him water, which he guzzles and promptly throws back up, and you help him into your tow truck which very well could have left you both stranded on the road the way it was running, and you head down the road. What I’m wondering is why not take him to town or directly to the hospital rather than taking him home, knowing how your brother feels about strangers.

His bike was busted and we run a salvage yard, it just seemed logical to take him home, let him cool off and hydrate, and then help him find the parts he needed for his bike. I didn’t realize at the time that it was a UK made bike and an older model to boot which would make the parts extra difficult to find, especially in the twisted mess of our salvage yard, though he did manage to find a few.

I take it you’re not a motorcycle guy.

Nope, not a car guy either. As long as a vehicle gets me from point A to point B without leaving me on the side of the road to hitchhike my way back home again, then I don’t need to know anything more about it.

Something tells me that if your brother knew about the whole hitchhiking thing he’d go through the roof.

Yeah and bury me under the back porch when he came back down which is why I never told him. Besides, it only happened twice and both times I got picked up by someone we knew, so no harm, no foul.

Until he sees this interview.

There is that, can we maybe, leave the whole hitchhiking part out.

Nope, can’t do it, I’m kind of like a traffic cop with a parking ticket, once I start writing there’s no undoing it.

Joy. He was right, you are a cruel and merciless creator.

Maybe. But at least I amuse myself. 

Good morning, Justice and thank you for agreeing to sit down with me today.

I’d have loved to do this interview a little later in the day.

I’m sure. Well there is a freshly brewed pot of coffee if you’d like some.

Why didn’t you say that in the first place?

For someone used to getting up early in the morning, you’re far grouchier about it than I expected.

Shouldn’t I be? You’re grouchy in the morning, everyone you live with is grouchy in the morning, hell, everyone you know is grouchy in the morning. Don’t you always tell people that you base all of us characters on people you know?

Yes, but…

Well then you can’t really expect any of us to be balls of sunshine in the morning, now can you?

Point taken. Shall we move on?”

Yeah, we can do that. This is good coffee by the way.

Thanks. So tell me about your reaction when Jude pulled up in the two truck with a motorcycle on the back and a perfect stranger in the cab beside him. Looking back, do you think that maybe you were a bit harsh under the circumstances?

No.

Care to elaborate?

Yeah, as long as you don’t mind me answering a question with a question. How would feel if one of your kids showed up on your doorstep with a dusty stranger and a busted up old motorcycle?

Curious, but then, I love old bikes and would jump at the opportunity to help work on one. As for the stranger, well, considering he looked about as lively as a wrung out dish rag, I’d like to think I’d have been cautious, but welcoming.

Goody for you. I’ve been looking out for Jude since we were kids. I’ve seen all of the impulsive shit he’s gotten into and the aftermath too. In that instance, I couldn’t help but feel like he was being gullible and we were about to be taken advantage of. You watch true crime shows, you’ve seen how it works. The good Samaritan who pulls over to help a stranded motorist and ends up getting car jacked, beaten, robbed or killed. The concerned individual who, out of the goodness of their heart, invites the down on their luck drifter to stay with them for a couple days, and ends up murdered in their bed. There’s a lot of good people in the world, I know this. But there are plenty of bad, too, and I for one would like to make it through the rest of this lifetime without becoming a statistic.

Fair enough, but if you felt so strongly about it, why not have Jude drive him into town, drop him off somewhere and be done with it. Or do it yourself if you were so worried about your brother? In the end, you let him in and offered him the couch to sleep on and you were the one, not 24 hours later, who made the decision to let him stay with you guys until he could get that bike back on the road.

I’m also the one who went ahead and did a background check too, don’t forget.

True.

Look, by the time he got done cooling off in the shower and getting dressed, he was shaking, bad, so I sat him on the couch and went to prep some sides for dinner. By the time Jude came home with the food, he’d passed out. He was pale, and when I tried to wake him so he could get some food in him, he didn’t even twitch not one little bit. Now, I can’t say that I slept so soundly that night. I spent half of it listening for signs of him moving around downstairs, poking into things, and there wasn’t a peep. Not even a creek of floorboards to suggest that he got up to use the bathroom, and that backpack of his that I brought in for him, well, you can be damn sure I searched it for weapons before I left it in the bathroom for him.

Kind of figured. So are you implying that getting a peek at some of his ink had nothing to do with your change of heart.

Did I say that?

No.

Then don’t imply things I didn’t say. The ink had me curious, no doubt, but the conversation we had in the office that following day helped a great deal too. So did all the things I learned about him through the background check. The things he didn’t say.

Understandable. He does tend to play his cards a bit close to the vest.

As outdated as that saying is, it’s especially true of him when we’re playing cards. Not only that but I’ve yet to figure out any of his tells and he can bluff with the best of them. I enjoy the challenge of playing with him and he’s added a new dynamic to the game.

So, if I was to paraphrase a line from one of my favorite novels, which would he be. Someone who goes, or someone who stays?

The jury is still out on that.

And you?

What? Going or staying? A year ago that would be easy to answer. Staying. Always.

And now?

At the very least my eyes have been opened to the possibility that there might be things away from here that I would enjoy seeing or doing. But this will always be home. I’m just coming to see that I don’t have to live in it fore the rest of my days for that to be the case. I don’t have any plans at the moment to go any further than Virginia, but my mind is more open to the possibility than ever before, and I’ve even begun poking around the internet, looking at photos and checking places out.

I’d be curious to see what comes of it.

You and me both.  

Now that some time has passed since Nash’s arrival and a few things in your life have settled down as much as they can in a small town like yours, what’s next?

No clue, but there won’t be a dull moment, that’s for certain. Honestly though, the possibilities are limited only by the imagination.  There’s a salvage yards full of parts and pieces and a stream of ideas that some days more closely resembles a flood. I’ve been getting better at writing them down when they come and it makes for some good conversation around the supper table each night.

That’s always good to hear.

So are we all set?

Just one more, question, if you don’t mind.  

Fine, but let me refill my coffee cup first.

Better?

Much.

What’s the deal with you and that challenger? You came up with some pretty intriguing ideas involving it and a particular someone in various stages of undress.  How did that all work out for you?

And on that note, you can consider this interview over.

Good morning, Nash, please tell me you’re a morning person ort this conversation is about to get off to a really rough start.

Naa, it’s all good, I don’t mind morning’s as much as some people I know. *snickers*

Yeah, I’ve already gotten an earful and a half from him about starting the interview so early and not telling him the moment he arrived that there was coffee ready.

It’s okay, he kind of needs to cut down on caffeine anyway. His blood pressure is high enough.

You should try slipping him some decaf. Just pour out most of the coffee grinds in the can and replace them with decaf, give the can a good shake to mix them all together and slowly wean him off the high octane stuff that way.

And when he figures it out, and you know he will, who’s going to keep him from burying me under the shop.

Well, when you put it that way, perhaps it isn’t the best way to insure one’s personal safety.

Exactly. So, why are you dragging us all back out, anyway. Stories over, fade to black and all that dramatic shit. Notebook neatly tucked away in a box with the others and out storyboard taken down. You didn’t decide to write a sequel, did you?

And if I did?

Makes no difference to me, I’ll come out and play whenever, but um, wanna do me a favor this time?

Depends.

Okay, well, if there are anymore scary shit to be found, wanna let someone else find it?

I’ll think about, now can you stop sidetracking the interview and let me actually ask a question?

You still haven’t told me why you dragged us all back out here to play.

I thought it would be fun to talk to you each one on one and introduce you to the public, ya snarky brat.

Oh, well, in that case, hello reader-verse, I’m Nash, the character Layla took great pleasure in tormenting through a large chunk of Dust Trail Blues.

To be fair, you did sort of bring a lot of it on yourself.

Hey, isn’t this breaking the forth wall.

No, it’s blowing it up, now can we get on with it?

Okay, okay, sheesh, ask what you’re going to ask so we can get this over with, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Don’t you start too, or I swear, not only will I write a sequel, but I will set it during a record heat wave and make sure the air conditioner in the shop dies three pages in.

Are you seriously trying to kill me?

At the moment, no, but it can be arranged if you keep on pushing your luck.

Fine, I’ll behave, alright, see this is me behaving, ask me anything you’d like.

Okay, have you been keeping a journal of your overheating incidents like Luke asked or did it go in one ear and out the other again.

Okay, anything but that.

Uh-huh, pretty sure you can expect a phone call from him the moment this goes live.

Gee, thanks.

Well, learn to listen and you wouldn’t have these issues.

Question…please.

Okay, were you seriously contemplating heading up to Alaska, or was that all just the melodrama and woe is me mess kicking in.

I still want to see Alaska. Maybe it’ll be a vacation trip or something. I just think it would be nice to be able to spend time outdoors without having to limit myself to particular hours or weather conditions, you know. And yeah, if things hadn’t worked out the way they had, then maybe. Or at least Maine. I hear it’s beautiful up there too, and mercifully cold a good chunk of the year.

What’s the coldest place you’ve lived since leaving Virginia?

Pennsylvania and Ohio. Holy crap it was awesome up there in the winter. Snow, ice, I could go hiking or wonder down a trail for three out of the four seasons.

So why leave?

Cost of living, mostly, I moved out of two different places in the same year because the landlords there raised the rent.

You know the secret to getting around that, right?

Yeah, yeah, my Gram has said the same things about a billion times. Get a better job, one where I can put my talents to good use and get paid top dollar for the things I create.

Exactly.

There’s more to life than money you know.

An argument that’s difficult to make when you’re strapping your stuff to the back of your Triumph in late November so you can move it into your new apartment before the snowstorm hits.

Good point. Moving on now.

Okay, tell me about the goats.

What about them?

Do you get along with them better now or are you still worried about one of them launching you into the next county.

The goats and I have reached a tentative truce. I give them a wide berth and refrain from discussing the ingredients in Mediterranean Goat Casserole in their presence and they grant me safe passage through the salvage yard.

Uh-huh, so, if you give them such a wide berth, why were you brushing goat feed dust off your jeans when you first came in? Admit it, they’ve grown on you.

Nope.

I’m pretty sure those are brown, tan and black goat hairs clinging to your right t-shirt.

Okay, so the kids are cute. But once they get their horns, forget it. I’ve got no interest in being turned into shish kabobs by one of the ornery things.

Well I see one thing hasn’t changed.

Yeah, and what’s that?

You’re unwillingness to admit you were wrong about something. The goats are awesome, aren’t they, come on, you can say it, the goats are awesome, which was why you were rolling a soccer ball to some of them early this morning when you went out to help Justice with their feed. And I could swear I saw you sitting in the shade of a magnolia just last night, one of the new kids sleeping across you where you were doodling away in that sketchbook of yours.

Okay, okay, you win! The goats are adorable. Even the ones with massive horns. There. I said it. Happy now.

Very.  

 

Sneak peek at the brand new beginning to Babber into my Heart

 

Waiting for the sun to rise, Bastian cozied up with his e-reader, soaking in the warmth of the large fire place that dominated the lobby. Constructed of river rock, it brought the beauty of nature to an already beautiful room, and Bastian rather enjoyed having it all to himself at this early time of the morning. Honestly, it was the grandest lodge he’d ever stayed at, not that he’d stayed at many, but this was by far the fanciest of them, which was why he felt a little out of place just being there. It was giving him a bit of imposter syndrome, but his best friend hadn’t gotten it when he’d told him that. Of course he hadn’t. This was Chauncy’s kind of place and while the two of them really were from different worlds, what they’d bonded over was way more prevalent than the money Bastian didn’t have.

People liked to speculate that it was bad, traumatic even, because in their minds why else would a boy from Eastman Park with an Ivy League education spend his free time with a kid from downtown, whose only college education was a few classes at the community college and the do’s and don’ts of the streets. Truth was, their bond had come in a moment of triumph, stuck in an elevator during a blackout with a pregnant woman whose water had decided to break. They’d worked with her to bring Bastian Chauncy Medlow into the world beside Blake Mathias Medlow, each of the twins wrapped in their shirts when the firemen arrived.

What a contrast that had been. A twenty dollar rock band shirt next to hundred dollar Armani, and yet Chauncy had taken it off with the same disregard Bastian had and they’d been fast friends ever since. In the elevator they’d shared all kinds of childhood stories in the hopes of entertaining the first time mom, who was nervous, worried and desperate to breathe and laugh through the pain. By the time they’d been helped out into a Washington State evening, they were tired, hungry, and more than ready for ice coffee and pizza, supreme, no black olives, extra soft mozzarella cheese melting in puddles all over the surface of the pizza.

That had made them laugh too, especially when their coffee order had proved to be exactly the same. Bastian hadn’t laughed so much since Shep, his best friend since elementary school had gone off to pursue a job in California and only made it home about twice a month. After that they’d bumped into each other everywhere, until they started making it a point to get together, which had somehow led to joining the same kink club along with the same gym. They’d started doubling up at the club while they learned what they loved and what they had little interest in.

Bastian didn’t know that he’d have been so open to explore without Chauncy there with him, and he knew shy Chauncy wasn’t going to come to the event until he’d agreed to come too.

So now here he was, sky streaked with the brilliant colors of dawn. It was enough light to see by, at least for what he wanted to do. He slipped the e-reader in his backpack beside a spare t-shirt, zipped it up and headed out. The moment he reached the path he broke into a jog. Walking it yesterday had shone him where the obstacles were: benches, low hanging limbs, short retaining walls, planters  and waist high shrubs. Those he could practice doing summersaults over.

There was freedom and exhilaration in flipping and bouncing off things, in twisting and making his body spiral. He’d loved gymnastics, but this was different, this was parkour, free running , also known as the art of displacement, and he was damned good at it. Breathing rhythmic, he exhaled as he leapt on the back of a bench, paused for a heartbeat, then spun, hurling himself through the air until his feet hit the grass and he was off running again. It wasn’t about speed, it wasn’t about keeping time, it was about the effortlessness of it all.

As he neared the end of the trail, he debated making a second run, but the sun was fully up over the horizon people were starting to move about. Already he’d had to retime a jump to avoid crashing into a fellow jogger, and the looks he was getting, well, he wasn’t in the mood to explain what it was that he was doing. Truth was, he wasn’t quite ready for any human interaction at all, especially not with a stranger.

And yet Chauncy was supposed to be the shy one. They were so screwed.

His stomach growled, which was the last bit of encouragement he needed to head back in. If he knew his friend, Chauncy would only just be contemplating getting out of bed. He’d have the television on, phone in hand as he scrolled the internet, checked emails and bullshitting with members of his circle on social media. Depending on the stories from the night before and the number of photos accompanying them, he’d be at it for a while, meaning Bastian would have plenty of time to stand beneath the pounding rhythm of the shower spray in their bathroom, mentally preparing himself for the first training session later that afternoon.

Training.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

All the way back to the room he tried not to imagine what the day had in store for him, but vivid images kept rolling through his mind, each more horrifying than the one before. He wished he had more experience with this, then maybe he’d have a better idea of what to expect, but the most he and Chauncy had done was watch pet play demonstrations, neither had ever actively taken part in one before.

Oh, they’d wanted to. They’d talked about it, wondered what it would feel like to be under the hands of a gentle trainer who’d stroke their furred sides, rub noses with them and know just how to help them settle down into pet space. It was why they were here a month before the event was set to start, to train and learn as much as they could in the hopes that they might be adopted. Only, Bastian knew in the back of his head that only one of them, Chauncy, had the chance to make that happen. Try as he might, Bastian had never seen himself as true pet material. Pets aimed to please. They were soft, adorable, happy little submissives that prided themselves on being the best they could be for their masters.

Bastian didn’t want to be owned, he wanted to be kept, which, in his head at least, was something entirely different. If only he could properly put it into words and explain it, then maybe he might stand a chance of conveying it to someone else. What he did know was that at heart, he was a ferret. He’d always admired the clever, cunning, nimble little animals, their behaviors reminding him a great deal of the parkour he loved. Watching them run through tubes and up and down the ramps of their cages always brought him a great deal of joy, and in his head, he could picture himself that way, which was why he’d spared no expense to find himself the most realistic ferret costume that he could manage.

He loved the feel of a hand stroking his head or dancing down his arm, but it was hard for him to stay still for that for long. The truth was he loved playing more and the club he and Chauncy belonged to had one of the coolest play spaces he’d ever seen. There were tubes to crawl in and out of, flip over and sprawl on top of, and soft mats where he could summersault and even manage the occasional handstand. Okay, so maybe he was a little bit of a showoff, bringing his parkour into his playtime in a way that tended to send others scurrying out of his way.

It had gained him a lot of looks and a great deal of attention, but those who’d ventured close had always been eager to get him to settle down and sit beside them, which had always let to too much squirming on his part. He never quite knew how to convey to them that as long as he was moving, engaging in something physical, his mind was int hat beautiful space where he needed it to be, when he was expected to be still, when it felt, even in the slightest, like they were trying to change or control him, he wanted nothing more than to be as far away from them as he could get.

He was gonna fail as a pet, despite the month of training he was about to subject himself too, and that was enough to leave him feeling a bit melancholy and apprehensive as he entered his hotel room.

“Did you have a good run?” Chauncy asked as soon as he’d gotten the door closed. Sure enough, Chauncy was exactly where he figured he’d be, with he television on some early morning talk show and his phone in his hand.

“Remind me again why coming here was a good idea?”

“You mean aside from the intensive daily training sessions and the opportunity to explore something we’ve been talking about for years?”

“Okay, there is that, but….I don’t know, at least at the club, we know the people there.”

“And have either of us been lucky enough to find a master yet.”

“I don’t want a master,” Bastian growled, bristling as soon as he heard the word.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have said it, I knew you were going to get testy as soon as the world slipped out of my mouth.”

“Sorry, I just…”

“I get it, okay, I do. Even if I think it’s splitting hairs at this point. All I was trying to point out was that here, we’d have the chance to meet people who were actively looking for pets, and we’d have the best opportunity to get to know them and show them what potentially amazing pets we could be.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m still having a hard time feeling like I belong here. I’m not…”

Gesturing between himself and Chauncy, he tried to find words to convey what he was feeling without worrying about accidently offending his friend. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Soft, meek, mild mannered, in a word, me?” Chauncy replied, the slightest change to his tone conveying that Bastian had failed in his desire not to hit a nerve. Best to unruffle those feathers before they grew into pouting and those sad eyed looks that always made Bastian scrambled to do whatever he could think of to make it go away. Including subject himself to another of Chauncy’s poorly thought out schemes. The last one had landed him at a combination speed dating/wine and fondue party. Whoever had thought to put those things had either been a genius, or consumed so many bottles that anything would have seemed like a good idea to them.

Bastian had found himself bored to tears listening to one guy spend the entire five minutes talking about the latest account his firm had landed, though, he had gotten a good laugh when the guy he’d crashed into thanks to an errant flip, had plunked down at the table still sporting the bruised cheek Bastian had accidently given him. There had been an almost moment there, when it seemed like they’d connected, then the man had started rambling on about a conspiracy theorist he admired and Bastian had been relieved when the buzzer had gone off. He might not keep up with the news as much as Chauncy did, but he preferred it consist of facts, rather than virulently defended fiction.