Chapter 2: Jose

Jose Ramirez was just twelve years old when he first killed, a human that is, and even today he remembered it with a combination of fear and sensuality. The fact that that first time had been associated with sex may explain why he still took orgasmic pleasure in the act of ending another man’s life.

He had been growing up, too fast perhaps, on his grandfather’s smallholding in the mountains that make up the border area between Columbia and Peru. He wasn’t sure which side of the border he was on, and really he didn't care, nor did any of the other peasant farmers that moved at their pleasure back and forth. All he knew and cared about was that he was poor, and often hungry, and that he didn’t like that much.

That day started much like any other day, but by the time it was over he would be changed forever. His Grandmother had woken him before dawn to tell him that his Grandfather was too ill to make a trip to a nearby village in the next valley. He must go because the leaves they had collected the previous day would spoil if the were not delivered to the processing plant that day, and the little they got for them would be even less. He loaded the bags onto the back of the donkey that was their only means of transportation, and set out just as soon as the shadows in the forest parted to reveal the path. He was not the least afraid, as he had played and worked in these forests for as long as he could remember, and he enjoyed the solitude they conveyed. By mid morning he could see the village he was headed for, and knew that the men he was to meet would find him before he actually reached the first shack.

When the men appeared as if by magic out of the forest to block his path his only surprise was how fine they looked. Their fatigues were smart and new compared to his threadbare clothes and the guns they carried were impressive to say the least. But the thing that impressed the boy most were the men’s sun glasses, large and sleek and shiny, they hid their eyes and imparted a look of sinister superiority. The boy knew at that instant that he had to have these things, and he had to find out how he could get them. He knew enough of the men’s reputation to know that today was not the time to find out, and these men were not the ones to ask, but he resolved that at some other time not to far in the future and at some other place probably not too far away, he would find out.

He passed over the bags, took the meager payment, and turned to return along the path he had come, but knowing it was early yet, and that if he returned before nightfall, he would have other tasks to perform around the farm, he was in no hurry. Deciding to take his time, he soon left the established path to follow a track that led him along a stream. The route was more a game trail than a path, as he frequently had to force his way through the encroaching foliage. Clearly no other person had used this path in a long time.

He followed the stream, as it meandered in the general direction of his home letting his mind wander as boys do, and he was in a dream walk when he suddenly became aware that the canopy overhead had opened up and the sun was shining through upon a quiet pool. On the far edge of the pool was a girl swimming. He stopped and pressed himself against the edge of the path and watched. It was not long before he noticed the paler flesh of her bosom glinting in the sunlight, and he saw that she was totally naked. The girl had not seen him, and he wanted to keep it that way as he crouched and crawled his way forward for a better view. She was younger than he, perhaps only ten years old but already he could see the early formation of her breasts and the shadow of her new pubic hair. The excitement rose in his body, and he flushed with emotions he had not known before. The unexpected pressure in his groin confused him. He wanted to flee, but some primal urge forced him to edge closer and closer.

By the time the still unconcerned girl had swum enough, and began to stroll towards her discarded clothes, he was within a few yards of the path she would use, hidden in the brush. As she walked past he stretched out and caught her arm, intending only to delay her. She screamed, and he, afraid that she would be heard, covered her nose and mouth with his other hand and clasped her to him. Her struggles seem to enflame his entire body, and he knew he had to do something, but was not quite sure what. His instincts took over and he threw her roughly to the ground, and was on top of her. He was still covering her mouth with his hand so he felt rather than heard her cry of pain as he forced himself inside her, and he did not notice her weakening struggles as he thrashed himself to fruition. When at last he was spent, she was no longer moving, and he knew she was dead.

More confused than ever, he plunged into the pool to clear his head, and knew he had to hide the body. No one had seen him come here, and probably no one had yet missed the girl, but left in the open it would not be long before someone would stumble on the crime. So, still dripping from his swim, he dragged the girl’s naked body deep into the undergrowth. Touching her again rekindled the urges he had satisfied only a half hour before, and he again forced himself on the now lifeless, but still beautiful form. By the time he had gratified himself a third time, and hidden the body to his satisfaction, it was late, and he knew he would now have to run to get home before darkness closed in on the forest.

At last light, as he walked towards his home, his body seemed to have new power, each step carried him much further, and he felt a foot taller. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would begin to change his life, and the world would soon be a different place.

It was not the next day, but very soon after that Jose took to using all his free time following the men he had met that day. He could move about in the forest with the stealth of a jaguar, and though he followed them, or other men like them for several weeks, they never knew he was there. During those weeks, however, he got to know everything. He got to know where the cadre’s met the other peasant farmers to accept the bags of leaves, where they took the leaves to mulch and press, where they took the milky sap to dry and powder, where they stored the blocks of plastic wrapped powder before they met the plane each full moon to send the blocks away, and where they hid the seemingly mountains of cash they received from the plane. He also got to know where they stashed their guns.

All this knowledge was of no use to Jose without some loyal help, and he knew what he needed to get that help. Money. Money he knew would get the help he needed, and money, with a little fear, would keep them loyal. And the money was there for him to see, albeit belonging to others. All that was necessary was a slight change in ownership. So he took some, late one night while the men were asleep, he simply crawled in to their camp and helped himself. Not to it all. He knew the risk he was taking was great, but he could get away with it if they didn't notice anything was gone, for just long enough for him to get ready to do what he had to do. To achieve that objective he also needed a gun, so he helped himself to one of those as well. It was so easy, those cadre’s were so sure of themselves they did not even post a guard.

The help he had set his mind on recruiting were two boys from the same village, one his age, the other a couple of years older. The three often hunted together in the forest, and he knew they had the bush skills they would need. It also helped that the older boy, Francesco or Frankie as he was know, was not very bright, and had come to rely on Jose for direction, and the younger Alex, much shorter, if a little stockier than Jose, had long ago accepted his dominance after being thrashed several times in “playful” fights. The three were not a gang in the urban sense, but they hung out together. They had learned to rely on each other for support in the things that rural kids do, like hunting and fishing and stealing neighboring farmer’s crops.

As expected, as soon as Jose produced the roll of notes from his pocket, both Frankie and Alex were in. Although only a small fraction of the stash of cash from which it had been taken, it was more money than either had seen in their entire lives. They had met in a forest clearing not far from their homes that they often used for their boyhood games. It was still quite early, just an hour after sunset, but as the village folk worked hard from sun up to sundown, everyone else in the village had retired for the night. The three boys discussed their plans in quiet tones and resolved to act three nights from then, when the moon would be approaching full to give them light to find their way, but would set a few hours before dawn to give them darkness for their attack. Jose remarked, “We only have one chance, if we fail we will die.” Both the other boys heard the words but all three showed no concern. With the foolishness of youth they all knew that death happened only to others, even when confronting armed men.

On the appointed night three days later, the three met in the same clearing just before midnight, each having quietly crawled out of their beds to avoid waking their families. Each had brought his weapon of choice, Frankie a long curved hunting knife, so sharp it could sever the head from a turkey in a single stroke, and Alex a spear with which he was particularly skilled. Jose also had a knife, shorter and sturdier than Frankie's, but just as sharp, and hidden in the bedroll he carried was the gun. He wanted to keep that secret even from his comrades, at least for now. They reviewed their plans for their adventure quickly, and were preparing to set out when a slight sound alerted Jose. Motioning the others to silence, he plunged into the undergrowth and was ready to swing his knife in a deathly blow when he realized that the body he had grasped was not a man. He dragged the struggling girl into the clearing, and as soon as the moonlight illuminated her face he recognized her. “What are you doing here, Greta,” he asked, resisting the urge to shout. Greta was Alex's older sister. “I’ve been following you for days,” she replied, “I want to come too.” Jose grabbed Alex in frustration, “Can’t you control your damn sister,” but he knew they were trapped. They couldn’t kill the girl, and she knew the whole plan, so they couldn’t leave her behind. “You know you will never be able to come back?” This thought had never before been enunciated between the three boys, and saying it now made them all pause for just a second. “I know,” said Greta, “thank God. If Jose is gone I too have no wish to return.”

Her words sealed the deal, and after checking that Greta had brought the bow she used in their hunting exploits with which she was lethal, they set off for the men’s hideout. The arrived exactly as planned as the moon disappeared into the forest, and everything became dark. This was the darkness of the jungle, with even the stars blocked out by the solid canopy of trees overhead. Their eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the blackness as the moonlight had faded, but even now each could see only a few feet ahead.

They didn't need to see, as each had memorized the locale to perfection, and each knew the task they had been set. Jose was to take the guard, a single outpost that they were sure by now would be close to sleep, while Frankie and Alex were to position themselves just outside the shelter the men used to sleep in. Greta who was not around when the plans were made, had been assigned a back up function, in case someone failed to neutralize their target.

Having given the others about ten minutes to get into position Jose crept toward the guard, and was only a couple of yards away before he could see him. As expected, he was not asleep, but definitely dozing, so he really did not know anything before the stiff blade separated his ribs and severed the aorta just above his heart. He tried to shout a warning to his colleagues as he collapsed, but the sound emerged as a gurgle no louder than an after dinner belch.

This noise was enough to signal to Alex and Frankie that the attack had begun, and they sprang into the hut, and struck at the sleeping forms. There were more than two, but Frankie’s knife was lethal, and after only three or four swings the two attackers were surrounded by four writhing forms, and if the fact that their heads were nearly severed from their bodies was anything to go by, they were probably dead. Frankie, who had moved further into the hut in his rampage, had just turned to congratulate Alex upon their success when he saw an unrecognized form at the opening of the hut. Obviously an extra guard that they had missed on their reconnoiter a few nights earlier, the man held an automatic rifle pointed directly at Alex's slender back. Seemingly in slow motion, Frankie watched as the man squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shots was deafening in the silence, and the flashes of flame from the muzzle blinding in the darkness, but they provided enough light for Frankie to notice the point of an arrow emerge from the mans chest exactly where his heart would be. The bullets zinged harmlessly off the roof timbers as the man fell.

The gunshots clearly ended the need for silence, and Jose yelled to check if everyone was OK. Although it took several seconds for Alex and Frankie to realize that they were still alive, they responded positively, and Greta moved into the clearing also, still a little tentatively. They all checked the surrounding shadows. but nothing else appeared to move.

The whole attack had taken less than two minutes from beginning to end. In that time six people were dead, three had just killed a man for the first time, and two of those had a young girl with a bow to thank that they too were not dead. Alex looked at Greta with new respect, and as the rush of adrenalin receded, he felt a deep urge to love this girl.

“The noise of the shots could have wakened the world, take up defensive positions and do not move till dawn.” The words came from the boy Jose, but to his audience, they came from their leader. They obeyed without question, except that Greta chose a position close to her hero.

As the light of dawn spread through the gloom of the forest, Jose jumped up, “time to get on with it. We have work to do.” The others rose without argument, and set to work. They dragged the bodies of the dead cadres, now cold and stiff, deep into the forest after having stripped them of their fatigues, weapons, any jewelry, and cash. They cleaned up the blood, and donned the captured clothes. By noon the four were transformed into images of the men they had dispatched during the night, right down to the shiny sunglasses.

Two nights later was full moon, and Jose knew the cadre had to deliver the months production of raw cocaine to the plane that landed in the clearing several miles deeper in the forest. He had watched the process several times before, and knew that the people on the plane wanted only to get back into the sky. Even so he was surprised when he and Alex were accepted with a hurried “where’s Hector”.

“He’s in the village bedding his girl.” Jose had never known the man’s name, “He told me to watch you because you always short him on the weight.” The man looked up wryly, threw the cartons of cocaine onto the plane and counted out fourteen hundred dollars. “That’s more than its worth. Will I see you next month.”

No more questions, no more problems. Jose realized these were not people persons. Do your job, watch your back, help everyone else watch theirs, and make their share of the riches, and you would make yours. Jose determined to follow those rules, with one small rider, he would make sure that his share grew until it was larger than anyone else's, much larger. If anyone didn't like that, they would get nothing, nothing, that is, except an unmarked shallow grave.

Chapter 1: Vanessa

It was one of those perfect winter evenings, crisp, clear and cold but with no wind, most unusual for January, and exceptionally unusual for Chicago. Vanessa was briskly storing away the remnants of the days work, leaving her desk top clear except for the small neat calendar which she left open at the page for the next day, the 13th. She always went through this routine at the end of the day, firstly because, being the company’s personnel manager, most of the items she worked with were confidential, and had to be out of public view, but mainly because that was the way she was, and always had been.

Jeremy put his head in the door, “Taking the day off”, he joked even though it was almost five after five. Smiling Vanessa replied, “I have a game tonight at the arena, and any way, I had put in a full day’s work before you had finished your first cup of coffee.” They were old friends, having met over ten years before when they both attended school at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario, and each ribbed the other at every opportunity. “Why don't you come and watch, it‘s just down the road, and we could pick up a beer afterwards at the Trader”.

“Well, it so happens that I have a break in my busy schedule this evening, so I might just do that, after I have finished up my work. Look for me in the stands in the third.” The company they both worked for, Fraser and Fraser & Son was a small regional stock broker, and Jeremy was a trader. Being relatively senior now, he had his cubicle in the very back of the large open plan room that housed the fifteen or so individuals who actually executed the customers buy and sell orders. The occupants referred to this space as the boiler room not because it was hot, but because it frequently cooked frenetically in the overheated market. Actually, it was rather pleasant work space compared to that found in the larger downtown firms, with the lines of cubicles broken by potted trees and other plants. If the foliage didn’t actually soften the lines, it at least absorbed some of the noise emanating from a dozen simultaneous telephone calls.

Jeremy smiled as he wove his way back towards his space, amused at the contrast between the tidiness on Vanessa’s desk and the mayhem evidenced by the sprawl of papers, coffee mugs, and yesterday’s donuts which hid the desktops of almost all the traders. His own desk was not the worst, but neither was it the best, and it was testament to his organized brain that he was able to keep on top of things. He was doing very well these days, not only because the general volume of the firm’s business had grown, but also because his reputation as a very astute trader had spread gradually, bringing him some larger and more active clients. The six-figure bonus he had received just a month ago told the story of his success, but did not describe the effort he had to apply to achieve it. Twelve hour days were his norm, and now that he was dabbling in the Japanese market which only opened at ten in the evening, he was often still at his desk well after midnight. As a result his social life was, as he put it, on hold. Part of the problem was that he was frankly a bit of a geek, very bright and accomplished but just a little bit socially inept. As long as he kept a telephone between himself and any other human being he was erudite and amusing, but put him face to face and he turned into a babbling idiot. That is with everybody except Vanessa, and he knew he could never expect to be any more than old college pals with her.

As always, when he sat down at his desk, he was transported into a different world. He buried himself in completing the long list of tasks he had before his day was over, and before he knew it two hours had passed. “Damn,” he thought “if I don't get down there, I will miss the whole game again and then my stock with Vanessa will really tank. I’ll have to come back and finish this later.” With that he walked quickly to his new BMW coupe, and gunned it the two short blocks down to the Arena. Luckily the game had started a little late, because the men's game, which had preceded it, ran over time due to an excessive number of penalties, and the third period had only just begun. Vanessa’s team was winning as usual, thanks mainly to the prowess of their star player, Vanessa. Although this was the highest level women's league in the area, she really was too good for it, having played internationally for Canada when she was younger, but the love of the game was too great for her to give up, and only men could make a living at this sport. Her compromise was to have a rewarding business career, but keep her skill with the puck alive as best she could. And even with all that bulky protective gear, she did look great on the ice.

As the game progressed with two more unanswered goals set up by Vanessa, Jeremy let his mind wander to the time when he and she had met as freshmen on the Queen’s campus just over twelve years earlier. The two were among one hundred bright young people mainly from Canada, but also from all over the world who were embarking upon a three year business science course that had just been launched at the school. Being one of the most prestigious schools in Canada, competition for the places in the course had been fierce, but both he and Vanessa had extremely good records, and their acceptance into the program was as expected. As time went on, the two seemed to gravitate to each other even though they were physically so different, she tall, athletic and large for a woman, but with everything in the right place, he relatively small for a man and seemingly with only left legs and thumbs. The truth most probably was that she was so accomplished at everything that most men and all the women were totally intimidated by her, while he could hardly open his mouth in the presence of anyone, so as two loners, they got together. By the end of the course in which both excelled, they were firm friends.

After graduation he headed south for a job initially in consulting with a big apple financial services company, while she had taken a year off to travel with the Canadian women’s ice hockey squad, before doing her masters in personnel management at Western University in Ontario, another prestigious business school almost an equal distance to the west of Toronto, as Kingston had been to the east.

Having drifted apart as a result of the separation, it was a great surprise, and a happy reunion when they both began new jobs on the same day at the same firm in Oakbrook Terrace, just west of Chicago. Renewing their friendship seemed just the natural thing to do,

“Was that four years ago,” mused Jeremy as the final whistle blew and he made his way to the foyer of the arena where he always waited for Vanessa to emerge from the dressing rooms, which she did surprisingly quickly. They moved quickly out into the crisp evening air escaping the admiring stares of every male older than twelve, and after throwing Vanessa’s sports bag into the trunk of her car walked the half mile to the Trader, a local sports bar frequented by the many stock brokers from the area. The place was nearly empty now as the after work crowd had long ago departed, so they could choose where they sat, and they moved into a quiet table shielded from the view of the mainly male stragglers by a row of shabby potted trees. They both ordered draft beer, but were prevented from sharing a pitcher by the fact that Vanessa always quaffed a heavy dark European style ale, while Jeremy sipped an insipid light pale American beer.

It was after the waitress had brought their second round that Vanessa became aware of the two men talking animatedly behind the potted trees. Almost hidden from her view, she could only form a vague impression of what they looked like, but the sharpness of the almost whispered conversation conveyed a distinct impression of anger, at least on the part of the man furthest from her. She would not have taken any more notice of them were it not for the snippets of their conversation that she could hear. “You caused the problem, you fix it,” said the one man, “and do it tonight, before any more damage is done.”

“I will,” replied the second grimly, “but its not as serious as you make it sound. It was just a wrong click of the mouse; Baird and Brad were adjacent to each other in my address book. He wont know where the message came from, I used my private AOL address.” “You had better, and don’t try to minimize the seriousness of what you have done. My operation is making us all rich, and you have put it at risk. You don’t fix it, I will, and you won't like the way I do.” With that the man who had spoken first stood up and quickly left the bar, leaving the second to stare into his drink. Vanessa could only see the back of that man’s neck where the short cropped blond hair glistened with his own sweat. The tension in the man’s body was obvious, the fear he felt was not.

“Well, I guess I must get back to the boiler room,” Jeremy was saying, bringing Vanessa’s attention back to her companion, “Tokyo is already open.” He actually did not have any orders to fulfill on that market today, but the comment was in line with his image. They left the bar together and walked back to Vanessa’s car where they parted with a friendly kiss on the cheek. As Jeremy located his own vehicle, and drove the 2 minutes back to the office, he couldn’t help wishing that the kiss had been something more.

For her part, Vanessa drove the ten miles to her neat apartment in Carol Stream, musing about the brief conversation between the two men that she had overheard. She could not overcome a mild feeling of unease, which she could not pin down. Perhaps it was because Baird was Jeremy’s family name.

“Is it done?” asked the first man.

“Yes“, the other replied, “I have his computer,” and the email was unopened. No one had seen it.”

“Was there any trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn't handle.” The blonde haired man dumped the computer onto the other man’s desk, “No harm was done.”

“For your sake, I hope you are right.” The tone in the first man’s voice was menacing, and the thin line that was his mouth conveyed the definite impression that he was serious, and that the consequences of even a minor problem would be just as serious. The blonde haired man turned and stepped away, into the darkness. He was unaware that the blood on his shoe had left a small brown stain upon the carpet where he had been standing. The first man did not notice it either.

The unease she had felt the previous evening returned as Vanessa Swift approached the building that housed her office at a little after 7.15 in the morning. Chicago is on central time, and because of this, businesses generally open at eight not nine as they do on the eastern seaboard. Vanessa was always earlier still. The few hours she could get of quiet time before the rest of the horde arrived gave her a sense of being in control, a feeling that was most important to her performance as a senior executive in an industry that lagged the general trend of promoting persons of her gender. She had got the job because her qualifications were clearly superior to those of any other candidate, but she knew that had it been a mainline firm downtown, the competition would have been stronger, and although she probably would still have been the best candidate, she likely would not have got the job.

This day she was a little later than usual, and clearly was not the first to arrive, as a few other employees were milling around the employee entrance in the rear of the building. Vanessa parked in her management spot close to the front door and moved to use that entrance for which she had a key. She was surprised to find it unlocked, but more surprised to find her way blocked by a policeman. “Sorry this is a crime scene” the man said. After some altercation and considerable discussion, Vanessa was able to persuade the man that not only was she the “person in charge” of the office in the early part of the day, but also, with her knowledge of the people who had access to the building, could be helpful to them in their investigation of the crime, whatever it was.

Concluding that whatever had taken place, had happened in the trading room, Vanessa pushed her way past the seemingly hundreds of uniforms to the back of the building, and, as a disturbing knot formed in her stomach, realized that most of the attention seemed to center on Jeremy's work area. “Do you know the guy who works here?” The question came from an unshaven man in a scruffy suit, seemingly the detective in charge of the investigation. “Yes, his name is Jeremy Baird. He’s a trader. Is he involved in something?” The question was more to quiet the developing fear that something terrible had happened to Jeremy.

“Seems he got mugged by an intruder, just got him on his way to the hospital. He was discovered unconscious and bleeding by one of your employees about an hour ago.” It took all her self control not to rush out of the room and head for the hospital, but Vanessa seemingly calm asked a few more questions and ascertained that Jeremy was quite badly hurt, would require some surgery to work on some fractures, but was otherwise OK and would certainly pull through. So her professional side took over, “What were they after?” she asked.

Another younger and much better dressed detective answered, “We are not sure, his wallet was gone, hence no ID, but we noticed also that this computer monitor seems not to be connected to anything, so it seems possible that a computer is missing”. “Yes, his operations computer is missing, the one he uses for communications and client records etc. You see all of our traders use two computers, one, that one still under his desk, is networked to the mainframe and through that, communicates only with the market. The other, the one that usually sits right there, is used for personal stuff, email etcetera. That’s how we separate the trading computers from the outside world. We’re scared of virus’s and hackers, so none of our trading machines are accessible to regular outside phone lines.”

“Anything else missing, and what was he doing here last night?” Vanessa replied that she did not think so, and explained that he had returned to the office after ten to finish up some work, and that he often did that so many people would have known that he may have been there. “Well it seems to us that the guy who did this broke in a back window, and was after that computer. Finding someone here was a complication, and the stealing of the wallet was a cover up. The victim’s car and house keys were still in his pockets, and the only car in the lot was his beamer so a regular thief would have taken those. This guy just wanted that computer, and wanted it bad. Why do you think that was?”

The last question from the detective was not really directed at Vanessa, rather more a sort of personal musing, but she answered anyway, “If he was after client records there were better places for him to find them and anyway, Jeremy kept most of that kind of stuff in his head. His computer was just a glorified automatic dialer and email machine which is why he had not bothered to replace it in four years. Who would want an old 486 with a mere 500 meg hard drive?” Leaving the rhetorical question hanging Vanessa hurried back to her office and the questions of the many staff members who by now had arrived and were gathered in several groups outside the front door. The police now opened up access to the front office, and the front half of the back room, but it wasn't until noon that most of the traders could go back to work. In the mean time those that could doubled up on computers in other work areas so the clients would not be affected, and Vanessa shared out outstanding buy/sell orders from Jeremy's desk to other traders to cover his clients.

The disruption kept everyone frantic until late afternoon, including Vanessa, but when she could she let her mind return to the puzzle of what the mugger was after, and for that matter, got. “It must be in that computer,” she thought, “but there was nothing of any value. He’s not the sort to be blackmailing somebody.” Suddenly she thought of the email system. Maybe he had received something he shouldn't see, or at least something that the sender regretted having sent! The only place to find out would be on the missing computer because with the volume of emails moving in and out of the office they had a system installed with their internet provider that automatically downloaded emails directly to the individual PC’s every twenty to thirty minutes, and deleted them from the IP’s server.

She was just about to move onto other more productive areas of thought when she remembered the big brother factor which had, at the companies request, been built in to the IP’s system. Every email in or out of their offices was secretly copied to a computer hidden in a small room which had a single door that opened into the boardroom, to which only senior personnel had access. She recalled the CEO saying at the time, “Sure it’s snooping, but by God if they get up to something, at least we will be able to find out how we were screwed.” She hadn’t liked it at the time but accepted that, in this litigious society, some principles of privacy had to be sacrificed. Here, she realized was a record that may provide the key to the mystery. Continuing this line of investigation would have to wait till she had free access to the boardroom, and she knew the best time for that was in the morning before most of this staff came in and certainly before other senior staff deigned to show up. In any event it was time to visit Jeremy at the hospital.

The Bull's Tale: A novel by Michael Anderson

Two years ago I started to write a novel, it is almost done, but like all these things never seems to get completely finished. Anyhow, I decided to put it out there piecemeal, and hopefully get somebody interested.

Here it is copyright of course, by Michael Anderson 2002-2005.