This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Karen Chaboyer will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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Karen longed for acceptance, validation and love, but had no ability to form healthy, meaningful relationships. Born into a large family already suffering the effects of two generations of residential school, and surviving her own nine years at St. Margaret Indian Residential School, Karen (like everyone she knew) had been systematically stripped of her dignity, identity, language, culture, family and community support systems.
Not wanting to be alone as an adult, Karen tolerated unhealthy relationships with family and partners. Still, she was coping. But after suffering further trauma, Karen turned to alcohol and other addictions to numb her pain.
Eventually, Karen found the strength to reach out for help. She learned to grieve through layers of shame and was finally able to embrace her identity. Karen also discovered what has long been known in her culture – the healing power of sharing your story. Karen would now like to share this book, her story, with you.
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My Childhood
It was a hot sunny day; a soothing breeze was flowing off the lake through the open screened windows. My mother and I were both lying sideways across a double bed, next to the open window, enjoying the afternoon together. I was on my stomach, legs in the air, as my eyes followed a bee buzzing around outside the screen window. My mother was lying on her side, legs dangling off the bed. She was a hard-working woman, young in spirit, all the while loving her family. There was no rest, having twelve children to tend to, but that afternoon she was taking a break with me anyway. Out of the blue, I asked, “Mom, what was it like when you gave birth to me?”
Mom looked out the window, reminiscing on the day she gave birth to me. Her face brightened as she began to tell her story. She said she went into labour the wee hours of the morning, and as the sun began to appear across the horizon, she prepared for her journey into town, packing a suitcase with her belongings and some baby clothes. My mother prayed that she would make it to the hospital on time. She had plenty of experience giving birth.
Dad took the suitcase down to the boat. There, he carefully prepared our big ole fishing boat for the trip by making sure there was plenty of gas and by laying blankets on the floor of the boat, so Mom could lie down as she bore each contraction. As my mother wobbled down the hill toward my dad, he grabbed her hand and helped her into the boat. He made sure she was comfortable on the blankets before starting their journey. Like all dad’s, he was nervous. He remained silent and hoped they would make it into town on time. The two-hour ride seemed like eternity.
The water was calm and serene and looked like a glass mirror. There was no breeze, and all you could hear was the motor putting slowly across the lake. Occasionally, my mother moaned in pain as she would breathe into each contraction. While gasping, Mom saw a stork flying across the lake as they approached our Couchiching First Nation reserve. Immediately, upon seeing the stork, Mom had suspicious thoughts that her baby might be taken away. She prayed that she would make it to the hospital safely and that I would be healthy.
As my parents approached land, houses appeared on the lakeshore, and she knew that things would be fine. As Dad docked the boat, he climbed out of the boat and opened his hands to help Mom out of the boat. Once he had the boat docked and Mom was safely on land with her personal belongings, he ran to the nearest house to call a taxi. The trip to the hospital was only a ten-minute drive, but they had railway tracks to cross. If the tracks were blocked by a train it would prevent them from getting into town.
God answered their prayers, and everything turned out fine. Mom explained that I was a dry birth because her water broke several hours before I was born. Despite it all, Mom and Dad became proud parents once again. I was now the tenth child and second girl in the family. It was mandatory that we stayed in the hospital for the next ten days as my mother recuperated and regained her strength. When we checked out, I had a good bill of health.
MEET THE AUTHOR
Karen Chaboyer is an Ojibwa mother and grandmother from Rainy River First Nations, a community in northwestern Ontario. She is proudly admired by her children, who have witnessed her transformation as she worked through layers of shame and learned to embrace her identity. A second-generation survivor of residential school, Karen now shares her experiences with audiences throughout the Toronto area, where she now resides. Karen's goal is to educate people on the extent to which the tragedies of the residential school system have impacted individuals, families, communities and entire cultures to this day.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kimberley B. Jones will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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Leah and Sasha are 17-year-old friends who had been close to one another since elementary school, but as the summer approaches they find their friendship tested in ways they never anticipated.
Following graduation, Sasha’s privileged life and perception of the world around her is suddenly altered when an old childhood friend persuades her to join in a campaign against an injustice after his best friend is killed by a cop.
But joining the protest has unforeseen consequences for Sasha, distancing her from Leah, who becomes jealous of Sasha’s new friends and finds herself on the opposing side, protesting alongside her group of new white friends.
As the tension mounts between the two bitterly opposed factions, a tragedy strikes and threatens to make Sasha and Leah enemies. Can they find a way to resolve their differences, putting them to the side and learn to accept each other’s viewpoints? Or is their long friendship finished for good?
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Going home wasn’t an option, and Ricardo had been making this so easy for me. I missed his friendship so much. We laughed and talked about things I liked to talk about, and so much more. Yes, we flirted, but we didn’t overstep any boundaries. Leo and I were no more, so technically I wasn’t cheating on anyone.
“I apologize for running out of the meeting the other day, but it was too much information for me to process. I went on a scavenger hunt on the Internet to find out more of what happened to Mitchell.”
“This really has your attention.”
“Yeah, at Chester the kids are different. Either the kids have cars or we aren’t allowed to walk home for safety reasons. But literally almost everyone has their own car.”
“Why did you stop coming over to play when we were kids?”
I hesitated; when me and Leah became friends, I made her my focus.
“I guess things changed for me, but I do miss our friendship. We grew apart because of the different schools we attended.”
I missed out on so much throughout the years. I threw our friendship away, but fate brought us together again.
“I should be headed home because it’s almost time for dinner, so I’ll see you later.”
“Why don’t you take my number, just in case you want to call me some time,” he said.
“Sure.”
I walked home, dragging my legs from Ricardo’s house. I couldn’t get my mind off of him.
MEET THE LIBRARY
Kimberley is a professional early childhood educator. She was born in the small town of Saint George, South Carolina, on September 12, 1982. Graduated from Woodland High School in 2000, Benedict College in 2004 with B.S., Child & Family Development, and from Ashford University in 2013 with a Masters in Early Childhood Education.
After receiving her education and being a military spouse, she held several jobs as a preschool teacher and a preschool director, but she wanted to her education to use by writing children’s books. She wrote her first book in college for her children’s literature course. She has self-published several children books on Amazon.
Currently, she is branching off into writing fiction YA, NA, and A novels on issues in society. She loves writing and would not change it for nothing in this world She is now published by Rhetoric Askew. Kimberley is the author of Our Friendship Matters.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Pomotions. Jennifer Anne Gordon will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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Adam, a young alcoholic, slowly descends into madness while dealing with the psychological scars of childhood trauma which are reawakened when his son and wife die in a car accident that he feels he is responsible for. After a failed suicide attempt, and more group meetings that he can mention. Adam hears a rumor of a Haunted Island off the Coast of Maine, where “if someone wants it bad enough” they could be reunited with a lost loved one. In his desperate attempt to connect with the ghost of his four-and-a half year old son, he decides to go there, to Dagger Island, desperate to apologize to, or be condemned by, his young son. Adam is not sure what he deserves or even which of these he wants more. While staying in a crumbling old boarding house, he becomes involved with a beautiful and manipulative ghost who has spent 60 years tormenting the now elderly man who was her lover, and ultimately her murderer. The three of them create a “Menage-a-Guilt" as they all come to terms with what it is that ties them so emotionally to their memories and their very “existence”.Beautiful, Frightening, and Silent is a poetic fever dream of grief, love, and the terrifying ways that obsession can change who we are.
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He walks up the stairs, the sound of his cane echoes loudly with each uneven but heavy impact. The sound travels out and finds its way back to him. It reverberates into his ears, and he can feel it on his skin like a kiss. Each step he takes feels like love. It is almost enough for him to forget the rest of it and let it all go.
As he looks down the upstairs hallway, he sees that every door is open to him. He looks in the rooms and sees the white sheets covering most surfaces. He wonders if these are the ghosts that people are taking about. Are they all just memory filled objects covered and hidden away?
He understands now that Ben is under one of those sheets. He is hidden away in one of these rooms for safe keeping. Hiding in plain sight, for only Adam to find him.
Adam walks into a room at the end of the hall. The one furthest from his own. The air in that room is thick with perfume and dust that has been baked to a ripe stuffiness over the years. It's a mother's, or a grandmother's room. You can feel it. The judgement and condemnation make him feel slightly nauseated. The furniture and mirrors are all covered in sheets. The shutters on the widow are closed and only sharp slices of light penetrate between the slats. As he walks through them, they hit his skin like little cuts. Each slice is quick and shallow the way the paper would cut at skin as he would grade his student’s papers while drunk.
He walks around the room and the light is in and out of his eye like a strobe. He sees the things under the sheets begin to dance a little and squirm. He hears breathing. It is coming from the far corner of the room. Something or someone is huddled in the nook near the fireplace. He sees the small hand of a boy peeking out from under the sheet, trying with fierce four-year-old determination to keep it in place. Benny Boy wants to win this game of hide-and-seek. The once white sheet is covered with brownish red water stains. It looks like blood that someone has spent years trying in vain to wash. In the end they are still dirty and stained with tears.
"Ben?" Adam calls softly. The air from his voice makes the dust particles dance in the fragmented light.
He hears a giggle and knows he was right. He is here. Adam begins to understand the game now.
"I wonder where Benny Boy is?" He feigns a lighthearted-ness. He knows he can't make it seem like Ben is in trouble for being in this room. This is most obviously not a room where a boy should play or hide which makes it even more appealing for a child.
"Is he under the bed?" Adam knows of course he isn't there, but in his heart, he needs Ben to realize he is good at the game and that he was able to trick his dad.
Adam can't wait to rip the sheet off him and to hear Ben scream with giggles. He wants to scoop him up and say, "There you are Benny Boy, I didn't know if I would be able to find you."
He walks slowly to the corner. If Ben is giggling again it is drowned out by a low moaning of the foghorn. Adam uses that distraction to take a few steps closer to the corner. There is no silent way for Adam to walk, no possible way for him to surprise Ben.
His had reaches out, it tremors in anticipation and fear. He pauses. "Ben?" he waits for an answer or a giggle or even a breath. There is just silence, of course there wouldn’t be a breath.
"Benny Boy?" He whispers even quieter. He leans in close to the sheet. He doesn't hear anything, but he swears he can feel the air flinch away from him as he leans in close.
MEET THE AUTHOR
Jennifer Anne Gordon is a gothic horror novelist. Her debut novel, Beautiful, Frightening, and Silent broke presale records with her publisher (Breaking Rules Publishing) and has received critical acclaim. Her second novel, From Daylight to Madness, is set to be released in late summer 2020 and is the second in her "Dagger Island" series.
She had a collection of her mixed media artwork published during spring of 2020, entitled Victoriana: mixed media art of Jennifer Gordon
Jennifer is one of the hosts of Writer Someday, to Author Today, as well as Prose Garden, she is also a book reviewer and contributor to HorrorTree.com, as well as the Creator and Host of Vox Vomitus, a video and podcast on the Global Authors on the Air Network.
Jennifer is a pale curly haired ginger, obsessed with horror, ghosts, abandoned buildings, and her dog "Lord Tubby".
She graduated from the New Hampshire Institute of Art, where she studied Acting. She also studied at the University of New Hampshire with a concentration in Art History and English.
She has made her living as an actress, a magician's assistant, a "gallerina", a painter, and burlesque performer. For the past 10 years as an award-winning professional ballroom dancer, performer, instructor, and choreographer.
She is a leo, so at the end of the day she really just thinks about her hair.
Her novel as well as her art collection are available on Amazon.
For more information and benevolent stalking, please visit her website.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nan Reinhardt will be awarding a set of 6 handmade wineglass charms and a $10 Starbucks gift card. (USA only) to 5 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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She wants a baby…he wants a family
Firefighter and paramedic Tierney Ashton has always been a bold adventurer, but at thirty-four she longs to embark on a new adventure—motherhood. But who will be the father? Although financially challenging, a sperm bank appears to be her best option. That is, until she shares her dream with her long-time pal, Brendan Flaherty.
Government analyst and world traveler Brendan Flaherty returns home to River’s Edge to help out at his family’s thriving winery and his brother’s new community theater. He also plans to finally achieve his lifelong goal of writing a novel. But when Tierney shares her wish, Bren offers to be her baby daddy—with one condition. Marriage.
It seems like a perfect contract, but will love get in the way?
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Sean scowled, then acquiesced. “I don’t blame you.” He licked his fingers and wandered over to the wall full of photos that Brendan had hung earlier that morning. “Wow! Is that you on the Great Wall of China?”
Bren nodded, his mouth full of bread and cheese.
“And where is this?” Sean pointed to a black-and-white photo of Brendan standing in front of a huge clock.
Sean’s brow furrowed as he scanned the display of more than a dozen photos from places all across the globe—some that were obvious—Moscow, London, Paris, Tokyo—and some that Bren was sure Sean wouldn’t recognize, like Zagreb, Croatia, and Podgorica in Montenegro. “Good God, Bond, all those times you said you were ‘on travel,’ we had no idea you were all over the damn globe. Conny, Ace, come check these out.”
Bren grinned. “You never asked where I was going.”
“We weren’t sure we were allowed to ask.” Aidan rose from the table to amble over to the photo wall. “Who knew? If you’d told us, you might have had to kill us.” He peered at a framed photo of Bren standing in front of an ornate palace, his arm around an attractive brunette. “Who’s this and where are you?”
Bren stood and carried Griff, who was still gnawing on a chunk of bread, over to his brothers. “Oh, that’s Agent 99, we’re in front of Bojnice Castle in Slovakia.” He said, working hard not to crack a smile. . He couldn’t help being rather proud of his perfect Slovak pronunciation, particularly since it clearly impressed his gaping brothers. Because of the research and analysis work he did for several government agencies, he’d mastered, at last count, seven different languages, but that wasn’t something he boasted about. It was simply part of his job.
Sean stared at him over the top of his glasses while Conor looked askance and said, “Oh, sure, of course it is.”
Bren just smirked. They were so convinced he was a spy, it was a kick to tease them.
MEET THE AUTHOR
Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today-bestselling author of romantic fiction for women in their prime. Yeah, women still fall in love and have sex, even after 45! Imagine! She is a wife, a mom, a mother-in-law, and a grandmother. Nan has been a copyeditor and proofreader for over 25 years, and currently works on romantic fiction titles for a variety of clients, including Avon Books, St. Martin’s Press, HarperCollins, Kensington Books, Tule Publishing, and Entangled Publishing, as well as for many indie authors.
Although she loves her life as an editor, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten, a love story between the most sophisticated person she knew at the time, her older sister (who was in high school and had a driver’s license!), and a member of Herman’s Hermits. If you remember who they are, you are Nan’s audience! Her latest series, the Four Irish Brothers Winery series is available from Tule Publishing and all book retailers. Books 1 through 3 are currently available; Book 4 releases July 16, 2020 and is available for preorder.
Visit Nan’s website at www.nanreinhardt.com, where you’ll find links to all her books as well as blogs about writing, being a Baby Boomer, and aging gracefully…mostly. Nan also blogs every third Tuesday at Word Wranglers, sharing the spotlight with five other romance authors, is a frequent contributor the RWA Contemporary Romance blog, and she contributes to the Romance University blog where she writes as Editor Nan.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kat Martin will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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To prove her father’s innocent of treason, she’ll have to face a killer--and risk everything ...
When journalist Jessie Kegan’s father is accused of espionage and treason, Jessie has no doubt the man she looked up to her entire life is innocent. Worse yet, before Colonel Kegan can stand trial, he’s found dead of a heart attack…but Jessie knows it was murder. Forcing down her grief, she’s determined to use her investigative skills and resources to clear her father’s name. But going after the truth means Jessie soon finds herself in the crosshairs of a killer who wants that truth to stay buried with her father.
Protecting Jessie Kegan is a job bodyguard Brandon Garrett can’t refuse. Jessie isn’t just a client at Maximum Security—she’s the sister of his best friend, Danny, killed in Afghanistan. With dangerous forces gunning for Jessie from every angle, keeping her safe will mean keeping her close and Bran finds their mutual attraction growing, though being Danny’s sister puts Jessie out of bounds.
With their backs against the wall, Jessie and Bran will have to risk everything to expose her father’s killer—before his legacy dies with his daughter.
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“Call and cancel,” he said. “I’ve got a suite for us at the Cheyenne Mountain Resort. It’s up in the hills not far from Fort Carson.” Apparently she hadn’t figured out that separate hotel rooms weren’t an option. People had been shooting at her. He wasn’t letting her get that far away.
“It’s an hour drive from there to the Depot,” he said, opening the passenger door. “But we’ll also be spending time at the base, which is fairly close, so we might as well stay somewhere nice.”
“You’re spending a lot of money. I didn’t expect that. I’ll find a way to repay you.”
He stopped walking and turned back. “I told you before--I owe your brother my life. You don’t owe me anything and especially not money. I’ve got plenty of it, far more than we’ll need.” He stared down at her. “All right?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.” She was a foot shorter than he was, petite, with a trim figure, but she wasn’t frail. He usually went for tall, buxom women. They just seemed less fragile, a better fit for a guy his size. But there was something about Jessie that drew him.
“No more talk about money,” he said to make the point. “Okay?”
Her chin went up. “Fine.”
He bit back a smile. She was really cute. Too bad she didn’t look more like her silver-haired father and less like her brother, whose good-looks appealed to women around the world.
They belted themselves into their seats and he started the engine.
“You don’t want to talk about the money you’re spending,” she said. “So what do you want to talk about? The case, I hope.”
He grinned. “Why don’t we talk about why you don’t have a serious boyfriend. That should be interesting.”
Instead of the snarky remark he expected, Jessie’s face went pale. She glanced out the window. “It’s not a good story.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author Kat Martin is a graduate of the University of California at Santa Barbara where she majored in Anthropology and also studied History. Currently residing in Missoula, Montana with her Western-author husband, L. J. Martin, Kat has written sixty-five Historical and Contemporary Romantic Suspense novels. More than sixteen million copies of her books are in print and she has been published in twenty foreign countries. Kat is currently at work on her next Romantic Suspense.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Leslie Scott will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
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Breanna Casey has only ever wanted two things in life: to race and to get the hell out of Arkadia, Texas. Stifled beneath her family's turbo-charged reputation, she's got her thumb firmly on the self-destruct button. A night of hyper-driven racing and rebellion leads to a one night stand with the one guy who knows how to press all her buttons: Noah McKay.
Torn apart by the toll of his high-intensity enlistment in the Marines and guilt-ridden by what he's seen, Noah McKay left the military to find peace. A chance encounter sends him working for the parents of a raven-haired Amazon goddess with a tongue that cuts sharper than any knife. Quiet is the last thing he'll get.
Finally, she gets her chance. Calloway Racing wants her to drive for them. But that's not all they want. A good friend of her father's, Calloway insists she take Noah along for the ride. Suddenly, her dreams are feeling more like a nightmare. Will they be able to help each other, maybe even find love, when living life full tilt boogie?
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The tent was suddenly far too small and suffocating. Abruptly the song changed again. Silently I thanked the DJ for offering me a reprieve. To keep from smothering in Vic’s good intentions, I pulled away and sought refuge with what was left of my cake.
Let’s face it, going back to the table was an epic mistake.
With Vic and Cara on the dance floor and Isaac MIA, that left a surly Noah McKay as the only
occupant. And I’d walked straight to him, ready for a fight.
“What’s your deal?” I shot as I tucked my purple skirt beneath my ass and sat down—hard.
He opened his mouth and his tongue slipped out and across his bottom lip, then he took seduction a step further and pulled the shiny, succulent flesh between his teeth.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” I pushed the cake away and let my forehead drop to the table. I couldn’t live like this. I was vastly inexperienced in such things—no matter
how much swagger I put on.
He laughed. “My deal? I don’t know whether to throttle you or kiss you.”
MEET THE AUTHOR
Award nominated author of Two Hearts, One Stone and the Arkadia Fast Series, Leslie Scott has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. The happier the ending, the better. Currently, she lives and writes amidst her own happily ever after with her soul mate, son, and domestic zoo.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win either a $100 Amazon/BN gift card or a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
READ THE INTERVIEW
If you could have one paranormal ability, what would it be?
I would like to go back in time and investigate the mind of Mark Twain, a great author.
What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?
That on top of me being a very talented writer, I am not stuck up and love people. In fact I am in contact with strangers every day.
When writing descriptions of your hero/ine, what feature do you start with?
Height
Are you a plotter or a panster?
I would say a plotter, to me it is much easier not creating great ideas being a panster.
Did you learn anything from writing this book? If so, what?
I have been able to use all my essentials which, are key elements in writing. patience, determination, perseverance, and a great imagination. This book has been a great deal of fun to write.
READ A SPECIAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Hello Readers! Welcome to my 15-week book tour which starts on April 14th and concludes on July 30th.
This tour was planned before the onset of this terrible covid-19 virus which has invaded our world. I want to extend my deepest sympathy to everyone, especially those who have lost loved ones.
A donation from me will be going out immediately to the charity I have listed below and I will also be donating 25% of any royalties from the book which is featured on this tour, to the covid-19 Response Fund. This fund gives support to preparedness, containment, response and recovery activities. The 25% of royalties will be donated when I receive the final notification of number of books sold. I am also encouraging all authors to make some sort of donation to help with the recovery efforts. WE ARE ALL IN THIS FIGHT TOGETHER!
We all are wondering what the long-term impact this covid-19 virus will be to our communities and our livelihoods, Every American, as well as the companies that have worked very hard for every author have been affected, but I have faith that we will recover from this terrible pandemic if we all stick together and we all do our part – no matter how small.
I will also be donating, (over and above what Goddess/Fish is offering):
$100 Amazon Gift certificate to one randomly drawn commentator $100 Amazon gift certificate to one randomly drawn host.
These drawings will be done via Rafflecopter that will be created by Goddess/Fish Promotions at the end of the tour. To all of my fellow-authors – please don’t forget our marketing representatives, book agents, reviewers, commentators, hosts, etc..who are probably working from home and trying to help us.
I will be posting all pertinent information on my web site www.gapainter.com
once the tour is over. The Gift Certificates will be mailed immediately after the tour is completed and the 25% will be posted once I receive Royalties resulting in the sale of all electronic and print versions of WIRED By The FBI.
I wish that I could do more, however, with every-one’s support, WE WILL BEAT THIS TERRIBLE SETBACK.
Thank you, God bless all of you and the United States of America.
Glenn Painter
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Christian Romano lives his life as a con-artist, burglar, drug dealer, and a ladies' man, using his good looks to con wealthy women out of jewels and money. When he is arrested and jailed in one of the most violent jails in the U.S. (Cook County in Chicago), a steamy affair begins with a nympho female jail guard. When he loses control of the romance, Christian must end the affair by reporting her to Internal Affairs. It turns out that she is already under suspicion for supplying drugs to various gang members inside the jail. He has to decide if he is "rogue" enough to help set her up for arrest. Meanwhile, the FBI wants to recruit Christian to gather information against a sadist ex-cop, Scott Mason, who has been arrested for murder. The risk? Christian must wear a wire and testify. The reward? Witness protection for Christian and his girlfriend and a modification of his prison sentence. Will Christian risk his life for a chance at freedom? Will the female sheriff "get even" with him? Or will his life end at the hands of the jail's drug lords or a lunatic former cop?
WATCH THE VIDEO
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Once we were through that charade, Smith began to explain how it all worked.
“This is a Swiss-made Nagra recorder. It’s a little heavy, but it gets the clearest recording of any machine we have ever used. Once you turn the machine on, you must let it run until the two hours expire, then take the tape out and exchange it with another. We will come by every couple day to bring new tapes and pick up the ones you have recorded. Do you understand everything so far?”
I could feel my mouth go dry as I stared into the case and wondered, What the f*** have I gotten myself into?
Then, the sound of Smith’s voice snapped me back to attention, “Here, get a feel for it.”
I took the silver-cased recorder from him and thought to myself, It’s too heavy and clunky to ever be concealed. The recorder was the size as a Sony Walkman cassette player, but three times heavier. Two wires, four feet each, ran from the machine with white plastic heads attached to each end. I had a bad feeling about the size and shape of this thing. It would be a real concern later.
Then Rogers said, “Because the heads on this machine are so sensitive, we will tape the recorder to your upper thigh and run the wires around your leg until the heads sit directly under the waistband of your underwear.”
Out of frustration, I said, “Great, if I have to piss and someone saddles up next to me and happens to look over at my manhood, they’re gonna get an eyeful of recorder wiring. Chances are I will be beaten to death after that miscue.”
My mind kept going back to the obvious lack of insight these square, fed boys had toward the real life within a jail.
“I’m about to go back to a jail with zero airflow and 100-degree heat. We walk around in our boxers all day.”
It was crystal clear that neither of these agents gave a rat’s ass about my safety.
Smith said, “We’ll just have to tape it higher up your thigh.”
“No, how about we strap it up your ass and let you go up there face-to-face with your boy.”
That was all they wanted to hear of my sarcasm and all hell broke loose as we tried to figure out how this was ever gonna work. The real logistical nightmare hit when I finally dropped my jail uniform pants and pulled up my boxers to see how it would fit on my inner thigh. After several years of martial arts and weightlifting, my thighs were far too big to fit the recorder under my boxers. Two agents played with the leg of my underwear, as they slid the fabric up and down with no success in figuring out how to get the damn machine up under my nut sack. Finally, I had had enough.
I asked, “Does anyone here have a knife with them?” They all stared at me in stunned silence.
Rogers finally spoke up. “I have a pocketknife,” he said as he handed it to me.
I jerked my boxers off and stood there with my dick dangling in the wind for all to admire. I measured the boxers to see where this heavy sack of metal was going to be placed. I began cutting a crude square hole in the upper right leg of my underwear. I was pretty certain the recorder would fit snugly in the hole. I slid my boxers back on and held the recorder where I had just cut the hole. The fit was very good, but now there was a different problem.
The recorder showed, so I had to come up with another way to cover the hole. I decided that if I was gonna pull this off, I would have to wear a second pair of boxers over the first pair. The outer ones had to hang lower on my torso and loosely enough to cover the recorder where it stuck out of my underwear. The hope was that the inner pair would hold the recorder in place well enough so it wouldn’t slip around. If this worked, I might be able to get away with it.
In my mind, I was thinking, what a cluster f*** this operation is. This would soon prove to be the way the F.B.I. does everything. So long as they are getting what they want, all else be damned. But at the moment, I had to wear this heavy chunk of metal under my nuts and hope that it stayed put and didn’t fall from my boxers like the anchor of the U.S.S. Just Kill Me Now.
Rogers wrapped the recorder with the ACE bandage he had brought and stepped back long enough for me to give it a light tug. I tugged on it ever so gently and knew immediately that it was too heavy.
“This thing is not gonna stay on my leg while I spend several hours walking up and down the tier. Are you trying to get me killed?” I asked. “Did either of you think to bring duct tape?”
Barry Smith had the audacity to respond by saying, “I didn’t want to bring any because I did not want to take the chance of it being considered contraband here at the jail.”
“You thought to bring my suicide machine, but you thought duct tape would set off alarms?” I shot back.
By now, Williamson had heard enough and walked back to his office. He reappeared a few moments later with some heavy, clear packing tape. We used that over the ACE bandage that the feds had brought to hold the recorder up. I gave the new configuration another slightly harder tug and everything seemed better. We then moved on to the next logistical nightmare, the swapping out of the tapes. It was actually Walsh that brought it up.
“How can the tapes be retrieved from Christian without stirring up attention?”
I had seen a movie once where a thick book was carved out and contraband was kept in the hollowed-out hole inside.
“Hey, I have one of those super thick books by Michener. I think it is about ancient Israel. I could take a razor blade out when it is time to shave and cut a hole in the center pages of the book to make a cavity large enough for the tapes. What do you guys think?” I asked.
Everyone was nodding their heads in agreement.
“I can put the book in my bars on the rear side toward the catwalk where no one will notice anything different. I have about four or five books back there now. What I can do is reverse this book so that the title faces out. When Sergeant Walsh walks around the tier, that will be his cue to grab that particular book, take the tape out and replace it with a new one.” I suggested.
They all agreed with the plan, so with the tape swap seemingly figured out, I was feeling a little better. I stood up to see how the recorder looked under my pants; and to my surprise, I could not see it through the clothing. I felt ready to go back to the jail and put the second pair of shorts over the first.
Barry Smith handed me a piece of paper and said, “This is a private phone number to our office that we call the ‘Hello’ line.
“When it rings through, it will be at a central desk where all the agents can pick it up. They will only answer by saying ‘Hello.’ When the jail recording announces that it is a collect call, everyone knows to accept the charges. You will then be speaking to one of the agents in our office. If it is after hours, the answering machine will come on, so speak to it as if you were leaving a message for me or Agent Rogers.”
It both surprised and impressed me that he was willing to give me a direct line in case of an emergency. For the first time, I felt a little less like a disposable piece of trash to these people. I took a pen from Buchan and rewrote the number in code so that if it were ever found, no one could access the actual number. When I was done, I stuffed the paper in my sock for safekeeping.
I looked at the two F.B.I. agents and asked, “Am I supposed to steer the conversation toward any certain topics?”
Smith spoke for them. “Since the conversation seems to come out of Mason’s mouth so frequently, just let him go, and see what happens.”
Barry Smith then handed me a second tape to have as a backup for the one that was already in the machine. After stuffing it into my other sock, I walked out with the heavy recorder strapped under my balls.
When I arrived back to my tier, Scott was talking on the phone. I walked past him and headed to my cell to get out of the jail clothes. I stripped down to my boxers to beat the crazy heat that hung over the unit like napalm. I stuck my head out of my cell to make sure the hallway was clear and slipped the second pair of boxers over the first. After pulling the outer pair down a few inches, they seemed to cover the protruding recorder just enough. I looked down and couldn’t tell where the recorder was. Just to be on the safe side, I put on an oversized shirt and let it billow out as I walked; this looked natural for the surroundings. It wasn’t five minutes and Scott was at the bars of my cell.
“You go to the hospital?” he asked.
“Yeah, I had to wait for the MRI machine to empty before I could go in. The radiologist was taking a smoke break between every MRI.”
I walked out of my cell and turned left, away from the guard post and began the ritual of walking from one end of the long hallway to the other.
When I walked away from my cell, I could feel Scott place his hand on my back. I tried not to freeze out of panic, but he had never touched me like that before. I had to wonder, Is he cleverly checking for a recording device? I tried to push the paranoia out of my mind, but it was tough with the stakes this high.
MEET THE AUTHOR
Glenn Painter is single and lives in Central Florida. He became interested in writing at an early age but did not make it his career until 2014 when he published his first book, Beyond the Sentence.
Glenn has written this story from the notes by the man who actually lived it. However, extensive research was also require in order to make the story factual.
Glenn has also founded a company, ‘Prisoner Civil Right Services.’ He is an advocate for incarcerated individuals who have had their rights violated. He is in constant contact with these individuals, their families and the council. Most of his stories are inspired by ‘factual events’ that have happened to these individuals. This makes his stories both fiction and non-fiction.
Glenn says that writing is very challenging, and you must love the trials and tribulations that come with it. He believes that patience, perseverance and determination are required essentials to see a book through to being published. The journey is just as important as the destination.
