Category: Teasers

Saying Goodbye part 1

Discography
Everlast – ‘What it’s like’
Kid Rock – ‘Only God Knows’
Uncle Kracker/Dobie Gray – ‘Drift Away’

Do you know how you’re going to say goodbye to someone? Is it going to be a loving embrace and a soft caress of their cheek before they go to the great beyond? Or, is it going to be heated words and a pistol stuck in their belly as they try to argue, or to plead with you, not to pull the trigger? Or is it simply a call in the night? A quick stop at the mortuary to look at a lump of flesh bloated with formaldehyde, because that’s the law? Or, will you, like me, wonder what happened when they just disappear? Here one day, and gone the next, and no clue where.

I remember, or think I do, the last time I saw Mom and Dad. They’d dropped me off at Uncle Soap’s apartment after packing the beat-up gold Ford Taurus for a camping trip. They often went camping alone at least twice a month, down in the Big Bend National Park. I remember him having on his red and black shirt he’d pulled the sleeves off. Mom always told him that was her favorite shirt of his. She’d wear it around the house sometimes to tease Dad. Not that they were all sweetness and love. More than once I heard them screaming back and forth about all sorts of things. Always it was mostly about drugs.

I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now. They argued the most just before they went camping, and were best together after they got back. As a child, I saw the change, and knew it had something to do with them going camping, but it really didn’t matter. Mom and Dad were happy. They paid attention to me, and bought me things like a new set of shoes, or a cool shirt. It’s funny that I remember the clothes but not their faces. I remember Dad always being skinny, and he had fuzz on his face. I don’t remember if it was a beard or mustache, both, or if he just didn’t shave every day. Mom was like Dad, skinny.

When they didn’t go camping, Dad stayed home nights with me while Mom went to work. She’d always dress up in baggy pants and a shirt, and carry lots of bright, flashy clothes that fit in a little carry bag to work. Dad would stay awake with me until I got tired, then I’d get tucked into bed on the couch at the far end of the trailer. I’d fall asleep listening to Dad watch television. Every so often, before I passed out, I’d watch him give himself a shot of ‘medicine’ in between his toes. I know he was shooting up now, but then I knew he was always more happy afterwards, so it seemed a good thing to me. I knew something was off, most four-year-olds can sense things. We’re not yet aware enough of how to lie to ourselves and avoid uncomfortable truths. Denial and delusion aren’t something that’s learned right away.

Mom dressed all the time in old clothes and dark colors. When we went out to the store, it was usually in the very early morning. Mom always told me that it was best, because there weren’t many people around and it made shopping easier. Looking back, I think it was because at those hours, hardly anyone she had met at her ‘job’ would be around. She table-danced, or stripped, whichever describes it best for you. Mom hated it, and came home crying a lot.

That would make Dad unhappy and those were when the biggest fights happened. About her job. About the money she brought home because dad couldn’t work. About him not working. They always fought. They didn’t pay much attention to me then. I learned to hide in my room when their voices started to get an edge. It meant that things were going to get broken, and a lot of slapping and throwing. It was better in my bedroom.

As I look at the memory of it, that room was my refuge. The one place I had some little privacy of my own. It wasn’t sacrosanct. Both mom and dad would come in to wake me up, or yell at some accident, or even hide from one another, either in play, or, you know. The not-fun-not-play stuff like fighting or yelling or crying. Dad did it a little more than mom. He’d charge in and slam the door, then lean against it. Mom would pound a few times, then go quiet. Dad watched me as he leaned on the door. He’d hold his first finger to his lips and go ‘shhhh’.

Science and Cyberpunk

Science continues to make amazing strides in technology creation and application.  Note this latest one.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2018/02/180209170717.htm

Also, this arm seems to be almost cyberpunk-ready.

The force is strong: Amputee controls individual prosthetic fingers — ScienceDaily

These incremental steps are bringing us closer to mechanically replaceable limbs, and perhaps even a nervous system, which would be a way around diseases such as Parkinson’s or multiple sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig’s disease.

Skid Style part 3

Stumbling over a generator cable, he caught his balance, then was in the clear once again, until a few docks later when the process repeated. Four minutes and a good deal of dodging later, Charlie came to the north end of the dockyard. This was where the burglaries had happened. Skid slowed to a stop. The docks here were thinner than the south end, and older. The wooden planking was grey from weathering. The planks had cement poured next to them, building the dock area outwards to hold the larger loading equipment. The warehouses abutted the edge of the docks. Their wood and red brick walls and single story construction seemed to Skid like huge turtles that came ashore and died in place.

The break-in happened on the dock side of the northernmost building. The yellow police tape on the front door and huge loading dock next to it was a big clue. Charlie took a long look at the building as the sun baked the asphalt and concrete. And the air carried the smell of salt water and decaying fish to his nostrils. He looked towards the docks, which was no help. The last two piers had no ships, and no workers around to talk to. He turned to look back south. The nearest potential witness was about a hundred yards away, and there were a couple hundred servicing a pair of freighters. He could see the cranes on the pier moving large pallets of crates. The grey, blue, and yellow forklifts picked up smaller pallets off the large pallet, and like ants in a line, rolled back towards the warehouses to drop off their cargo.

He turned back towards the south. The sunlight glinting off the forklifts scuttling back and forth was mesmerizing. He blinked, then sighed, “What do I do now?”

Night settled down over the dockyard. While the sounds of traffic had slowly dissipated, the cacophony of the cranes and workers was still at full roar, and carried faintly to Skid, who had moved to the end of the old, weather-worn pier to watch for thieves coming back to break into the warehouse. They gotta return to the scene of the crime. This place is too easy not to pick over. Skid crossed his fingers, hoping he was right. All those comics and mysteries he loved so much said that bad guys always came back for more. I just have to wait, and I’ll catch them red-handed. He settled in for a night of watching, only to find out the rule every other cop has been on a stakeout figured out. The crooks will never appear when you’re awake or ready, if they show at all. This was Skid’s new experience. He kept himself awake by running down to the first active dock, then back again to the end of the old pier, with the predictable results of letting people know he was around.

It was eleven thirty at night when a heavyset figure drove up in a dark car. The vehivles lights were out as it purred to a stop next to the warehouse. This has got to be it! Skid thought excitedly. It was just like the comics. The crooks came back for more! He didn’t wait, but dashed up to the car, shouting “Freeze! You’re under arrest!” The car’s floodlight mounted on the right side of the car came on immediately and spun to illuminate him.

Skid blinked in the light as a voice said, “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing, kid! Trying ta give me a heart attack?!” The voice was familiar somehow. He decided to ignore it and confront them like the hero he was supposed to be. He ran quickly to the driver-side door, and gave it a hard yank. The interior light came on to illuminate the gate guard, sitting in the driver seat. Her face was pale in the glare of the harsh mercury lighting from the parking lot lamps. Skid felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“>Uh, sorry. I didn’t think…I just didn’t think.” The stammered apology seemed to calm the guard, who managed a thin smile. She shifted in her seat. The door clicked as she pulled the inner lever and opened it, shifting her heavyset bulk out the door and into the muggy night air.

“I understand. It’s no big deal. I scared myself on my first evening doing guard work.” She paused a moment, then took a breath as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “It was six years ago I got hired. I’d just gotten out of college with a degree in Biology, only to find no one wanted a biologist without a masters, or a doctorate. I jumped on the job. The lead out here gave me the route to drive, what to check, and where to stamp the clock to prove I covered my route.”

Her eyes lit up with the remembered first night. “One thing that they forgot to tell me was that pier eight was a twenty-four hour pickup for priority loads. I drove past the gate, and found it open. At night, all the gates are supposed to be locked. This one was wide open and a pickup was sitting just inside. People were scurrying around flashing lights at the crates, then loading them onto the pickup. There were seven of them and just me with a mag lite and walkie talkie.”

“I called it in quietly, and you know what my lead said?” She chuckled. “He said ‘go check it out, rookie. Oh, and don’t get shot’, which didn’t help my paranoia at all. I walked in and announced myself, at which point there were a couple of screams. The guys dropped the small crate they were moving and seven flashlight swiveled onto me. ‘Jesus ma’am! What the hell are you giving us a heart attack for!? We called it in and I’ve got the papers for the pick up right here.”

I could hear frigging laughing coming over the walkie. I’d been so tense I’d held the transmit button on. My lead had set me up.” She chuckled again, then turned what was supposed to be a stern face at Skid, but her smile ruined the whole stern thing. He found himself grinning at the story. “So, did you get him back?”, he asked her. The guard, whose name was ‘Menendez’ according to her name badge just above her left chest pocket, smiled, and shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work that way. Though, I do seem to remember someone replace his sugar packets with salt once.” Skid chuckled, then looked around the parking lot again. “Is this you trying to tell me that I’m wasting my time?”

Prologues

Prologues are often used to create a scene ahead of the main story, or to impart information that the author sees as relevant to the story.  I’ve not used prologues in any stories so far, but that just means I haven’t set up a story that needed one.  I personally like prologues.  The information gets me ready for the story and gives me an insight I didn’t have prior to reading.  Here’s an example of a Prologue.  It is from the upcoming novel, “No Fury”, by R. Goodrum and L. Thorndyke.

The Solar Road of Spinset is a marvel of engineering unparalleled in history. This artificial structure links the polar regions of all three worlds (Lambent, Recondite, and Shadow) to an artificial structure which is always one standard hour away from each planet. This transportation system stretches and shrinks as the planets move. The central hub is always precisely in the center of the position of the worlds. Objects which are outside the road have no effect upon the road.

Meteoroids, asteroids, and comets have all made their way through the path of the road without affect. Even slow moving artificial objects pass through. Nothing outside the road has any ability to change what happens inside the road. This is even true of the sun. At times, the hub or spokes of the Solar Road pass through the sun: nothing happens to what is inside or outside the spokes and hub.

The three worlds travel about the sun at different intervals. Lambent is the innermost of the three having 304 cycles of light and dark, day, with a leap day every tenth orbit about the sun, year. Recondite has a longer orbit: 459 days with a leap day every 6 years. Shadow has the longest year at 560 days with two leap days every five years. The Solar Tribunal has established the tribunal year as 453 days with two leap days every ninth year. Even though each planet rotates at a different rate, the Tribunal has established a 20 hour local day for each world. Each hour is further divided into 100 minutes which are divided into 100 seconds.

Travel to or from the central hub takes one hour regardless of the planet from which one starts or ends their trip. Hence “uninterrupted travel between two planets is always exactly two hours. Most citizens who travel between planets choose to use Tribunal Standard Time rather than local time for their timepieces.

The central hub, also known as Triune, was designed to house and support one million individuals. The birth and death rates of Triune are rather low: births are in the range of 10,000 per year while deaths are below 5,000. This has resulted in a mandate that all persons born in Triune most choose a planet on which to reside after the age of 18. This is a permanent commitment. Thereafter, these individuals are allowed to return to Triune only one week per decade unless they can obtain permanent Triune citizenship.

Permanent citizenship is so valued that powerful people from the three planets vie for it. They are willing to become janitors, wait staff, garbage collectors, street sweepers, etc., for the right of permanent Triune citizenship. The bodies of every individual who has every spent at least one year in Triune has regenerated to the point of modest age: seeming to be between 30 and 40 tribunal years of age. There is no sickness or illness, disease or deformity among any individual who has lived in Triune for at least a year. Individuals who have had artificial body parts implanted much undergo surgery within nine month of arrival to have them removed lest the regeneration process force them out violently.

The Tribunal Ancients, also known as the Triumvirate, are the system authority. They are housed at the hub of the Solar Road. These leaders are chosen from the populace of each planet. Their appointment is permanent. The Ancients do not age even though they were once mortal like the rest of their kind. Now, immortal, they can only die through accident, murder or suicide. There has never been an ‘official’ suicide among the Ancients. Accidents which can kill an Ancient are very rare. In the history of Spinset, only two Ancients have died of accidental causes. Murder, on the other hand, has been far more common. Typically, one Ancient is assassinated each century.
On the occasion that a vacancy occurs, any individual may present themselves to one of the temporarily erected testing facilities which are under the direction of the lower officers of the Tribunal. The testing may result in one of three conditions being set: reject, tentative acceptance, or immediate acceptance. Immediate acceptance has only occurred once in history when it was granted to the ten year old, Jason Ardan Milson. Naturally, most individuals who present themselves, over 99.99999%, are rejected by the testing system. The remainder receive tentative acceptance. With time, those who were tentatively accepted are either rejected because a more acceptable candidate was identified or acknowledged as the best candidate. The longest time to confirm a replacement has been one hundred eighty days.

The transit time between worlds is linked to the number of living Ancients. As stated earlier, with all three of the Ancients imbued with the power of their office, the transit time is one hour to the hub and another hour to the destination. At times when one of the posts was vacant, the travel time grew about a minute per day during the vacancy. The longest vacancy resulted in four hours transit time between planets.

-from the Codex Trimvir – Passage 7836.

 

As you see, this spells out the location, some details of its unusual setting, and some background on what the story may focus on.  It primes you for the story, which is the purpose of a prologue.

The Jiminy part 30

‘I don’t make the rules, I just abide by them’ floated down the wall from the ceiling in block white letters.

“Ya don’t mind screwin’ around either, do ya?” Travis grumbled.

‘Perish the thought,’ came the dark blue letters from right to left. ‘I may be a little mischievous, but I am the soul of the work ethic. Everything for a reason and everything in it’s proper time and place.’

“Okay, so what got her here? I saw the botched burglary. What made her do it?” Travis felt this was important.

‘Oh it is important, and it is history, so sit down and I’ll lay the word upon your ears, Jiminy.’ The letters had that mocking attitude again, and the bright neon orange letters bursting on the wall screen made Travis eyes ache to look at.

‘Once upon a time,’ scrolled the letters in powder blue, ‘a little girl was born to a whore mother and a drug-addled gang-banger father. This little girl grew up in a house where neither parent looked after her, and only her drunken grandmother ever paid her attention beyond the occasional snarl and backhand from the girl’s parents. It was so, so, sad. The little girl went to school, with the other hard luck children from the desperately poor section of town, and found that the ‘normal’ kids had more everything than she did. Her juvenile delinquent friends showed her how easy it was to get ‘normal’ kids money from them, but she didn’t like beating people up. She found she liked learning things. This made her stay after school and ask questions about classes to her teachers. One day, the girl’s parents moved out, leaving her behind. She was a teenager, and didn’t have any way to support herself. She was all alone, the poor, poor thing. So, she found out that stealing was the only way to get food. She took from the supermarket, stuffing snacks in her pants, and waddling out of the store. Stealing money was easier, and her friends showed her how to sneak into a house *** and take valuable things to sell to fences or pawn shops. Oh, she was careful to case a place first, just like the big kids taught her. That way she could pick the best time to burgle a residence. It was easy. A little bit here, a little bit there was good enough for her, but not her new friends, who wanted more. So our larcenous little heroine took larger and larger risks to satisfy her ‘friends’ (the friends word was in dark red block letters) and they quit taking her money. Some time later, the friends decided that burgling a house wasn’t good enough. They felt ready for something…more. To keep her friends happy, she joined in. Her friend, Casey, drove to the liquor store they’d cased. Our heroine was the ‘new kid’, so she was chosen to be the first in through the door. She had picked up a cement block from a work site a few days ago for just such a opportunity. She threw the block hard at the window, and smashed it. A second throw carried away enough glass for her to wiggle in and start to search for anything valuable. She rolled over the counter, and started throwing cigarette cartons back outside for her friends to pick up. The cash register was locked, and she couldn’t pry it open. About this time she heard the car rev. It’s tires squealed and she was left in the store, frozen by their sudden disappearance. About this time a cop flashed a light into the dark store. Before he could call out she threw a metal can at the officer, catching him in the side of the head. He dropped to the ground. As she looked for an escape, the second officer spotted her in the store, and fired a taser gun. She was sent here to serve a year in juvenile detention for assaulting an officer. Oh the poor poor little poor bitch from gang-bangers. Who would have thought she’d sink so low to steal from a convenience store. Is there no shame in the world anymore? Why it’s hard to believe that any upright men and women actually exist.’

The Jiminy Part 29

Letters in green, yellow, and blue popped onto the screen in haphazard order. ‘Ask away, but I will warn you that the only real answer is one you find. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ An honest-to-Smiley Face formed on the screen. Travis thought it was the creepiest thing he’d ever seen. It made him think of a serial killer toying with his chosen target.

‘Melodramatic much?’ it mocked with orange letters popping up and disappearing.

“That was just creepy, and you know it” Travis snarled at the screen, which was still dark.

‘Oh my, actual banter rather than screaming fits and angry shouts? What are we coming to, detente?’

“De-what? Never mind. I have a question. You can answer questions, right?”

The letters took a coy, fuzzy pink texture as they appeared on the screen. ‘I can, within limits of course.’

We’re getting somewhere. “So what are the limits?”

‘The information can’t force you to change your actions. I am not allowed to lie or influence you in any way.’

“So if I asked for history about this girl, you can give it?”

‘Point for you, yes I can, and will give any relevant history when asked.’ The black letters outlined in orange had extra space between them, almost like they were saying something themselves, but Travis couldn’t figure if it meant anything or not.

“What about asking things like, uh, about the other guy?” Anything I can learn might help figuring out what his angle is, and how I could catch trouble before it got started.

‘Uh uh. No no noooo … no can do kemosabe. Information like that influences decisions. Influence is a no no. Same thing for the other guy.’

“So the other guy can’t use you to, uh,” Travis stopped talking and thought hard about what he’d heard so far. “Wait a sec. You can tell me about the girl’s history, but won’t that influence me?”

‘Point for you’, showed up in thin gold letters that reminded Travis of an ‘attaboy’ sticker his first grade teacher gave out to students that got a perfect score on their tests. ‘Since it’s history, it’s not something that can be influenced. It can be learned from. That’s your job, at least part of it. To learn. If it happens to influence your decision, then you’ve learned from the past, not from me.’

It made Travis head hurt a little. That it could, and would talk about the past, and yet not talk about now and other possible things going on. That seems a weird place to draw a line about what’s proper and what ain’t.

The Jiminy part 15

“ARRRGH! This has to be hell! No one tells me nothing! I’m sick of it!” He glared at the screen. “Cough up some answers or nothing’s going to happen!”

The screen flashed in a multitude of colors that played over the wall, splashes of red dotted with neon blue and white squares half covered by dingy yellow splotches. The sheer three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of riotous colors washing over each other in a psychedelic display gave Travis vertigo. He dropped to his hands and knees and struggling to stay there. The colors seemed to roll through him, churning him up like an old washing machine, until he couldn’t tell up from down. His vision began to darken as the churning sped up for a moment, then vanished so suddenly he dropped prone on the grey floor. What was that?!

‘That’, the letters spelled out in tall thin white against a mauve background, ‘was a full opening of you. What you were was laid bare. I have to say, I’m very surprised you don’t know the reference.’ The pressure rolled over him in a more speculative manner, and not nearly as invasive. It receded, then a square of white appeared. A grainy ‘5’ in a circle counted down to ‘4’, and then to ‘3’, at which point there was a blip of light.

The square went black, then faded in again as a little boy, looking like he was dressed in goofy shorts with suspenders and a weird little yellow shirt with a huge collar and blue bow-tie, instead of a T-shirt, was watching this little thing in a tuxedo and top hat, look up at him. The two appeared to talk, then it seemed that some kind of tune was playing. The little thing in the tuxedo hopped like a grasshopper, and started strutting along, hand on hat. What’s he saying, I wonder. Are they trying to whistle? He remembered the conversation earlier, ‘You have to ask for it’.

“Hey, does that come with sound?”

‘Point for you, yes it does.’

Suddenly the singing was coming across, and he heard the little thing say “give a little whistle”, and then a moment later, “Not just a little squeak, pucker up and blow!” Which the boy tried to do, then another line, “and if you’re whistle’s weak, yell!” to which the boy answered, “Jiminy Cricket!”

Jiminy Cricket?! He’s calling me a cricket?! Travis started a slow burn once more, then he heard the last part of the refrain, “and always let your conscience be your guide.” Everything fell together. Jiminy, the view he was getting, the ‘boss’ reference, the smarmy lettering. I’m a conscience?!

‘You can learn when you put your mind to it’ the letters scrolled with what seemed a relieved-yet-irritated manner.

“Okay so what can I ask for, I mean besides clothes and sound? You said I had to learn to choose, so I’m saying tell me what choices I get to make.”

The wall faded to black, darkening the entire room, then brightened once more. Travis was looking at the large black girl staring down at the ‘boss’. “So you got the J?”

The Jiminy part 11

Dead. I’m dead. No more work. No more beer nights. No waking up with Kimm….“Kimmy!” He looked at the wall from the floor, his face an agonized mask of loss. “Kimmy’s okay, right?” ‘She will be. Right now she is dealing with your death, and all the paperwork that you left for her,’ the wall printed in tall, light grey letters. “Can I see her?” Please, just let me see her so I know she’s okay. She stood by me when I needed it, and I just took it for granted. I am so sorry Kimmy. ‘You may not. You’re dead. She’s alive. She has a life to build over. You have a job to get to, Jiminy,’ the wall replied in soft, fuzzy looking blue letters.

Travis started to protest, but the feeling of the grey started to ripple along his skin, or whatever he thought of as his skin. The clammy sensation had him bolting to his feet, choking back a terrified scream.’I think you’ve wasted enough time, Jiminy. Get up on the platform and I will run you through the basics of your job for the boss.’ The mysterious printer, (Not sign. Travis he finally decided it was some guy on a computer controlling the screens, like that old movie with the man behind the curtain.)

In truth, he was kind of shocked that he was so calm after finding out he was dead and Kimmy was in pain from his dying. I still feel things, but it’s like it doesn’t feel real. Kimmy’s there, not here, I’m dead, and it’s like another day at the job. Am I losing it? It doesn’t make sense. Why am I not crying more over Kimmy. She needs me and I’d be frantic to see her. But now all I feel is regret, and a little sadness, but it’s fuzzy, like it ain’t real. And now I gotta go see a new boss, a girl boss? I’d be pitching a screaming fit I think if I was still alive. This all seems so distant.

Travis gave a resigned shrug and looked at the raised center of the room. “I go there, right. Fine.” he stepped onto the platform and put his hands around the ski-pole things and braced himself. Nothing happened. “Do I gotta turn it on?” ‘Wait for it,’ came the answer in a mischievous sky-blue lettering with a pink background. Okay, now that just sounded weird. Is this a practical joke or something? ‘Or something’ came the written reply slowly across the grey wall in tall green letters.

The Jiminy part 9

Once he got some overflow into the red-black gunk, he flipped the switch again, unplugged the body, and pushed it to a corner of the room, then trundled Travis’s body to the machine. Travis started feeling sick as he watched his nude body treated like so much dead meat. The embalmer picked up the X-acto knife and pushed Travis’ legs open. He seemed to mumble something and laughed, then cut deep into both femoral arteries in the upper thigh. Travis felt a twinge of sympathetic pain in his legs as the man sneered down at his lifeless body and stabbed the de-sanguinators deep into the open wounds. The man finally turned to face Travis, and he stared back at the familiar sneer. Harry Deeney. Travis had known Harry since primary school, and neither of them liked each other at all. Harry and Travis were the two biggest kids in primary, and Harry started pushing Travis around and in general bullying him. Harry had the advantage in mass, so he invariably won the fights when Travis tried to fight back.

Travis had a growth spurt in middle school and Harry went from being the bully to the bullied. Travis wasted no opportunity. He’d gotten sick of being bullied and it felt so good to put it to Harry. He’d pushed Harry the same way he’d been pushed. It felt so good, being on top that he’d started pushing others around too. It was fun, and big as he was, it was easy. Then, when he felt he had the world by the short hairs, he blew out his knee in the last game of the season. The college scouts that had come to see him play left without a word, and he was left, another casualty of fortune. He’d gotten to asking for the pain pills after the surgery to repair it, and started washing down the pills with beer, and later, hard liquor when the pain got really bad.

He’d gone through the next year in a haze of alcohol and pain medication. He felt drained, and surrounded by a soft fuzz that dulled every sense. Kimmy found him then. She was tending bar at the ‘Lazy Horse’ bar across from the truck stop out west. He was a frequent customer, and they’d started talking. Talk in the bar led to talk outside the bar, and to talk at home, and to other, ‘adult’ things. It was Kim that told him to quit the pills. She didn’t mind if he drank, but the drugs were out if he wanted her to stick around. She was three months pregnant when they married, and a month later, she lost the baby, they both started drinking hard.

Travis hit the bottle so hard it scared Kimmy. He passed out one night and she called the Goldsboro Rescue Squad. Her instincts were correct, and Travis barely pulled through alcohol poisoning. That seemed to give him a wake up call, as he got off the bottle and was sober until he started working for Hillaney Air Conditioning. The company built air conditioners, and Travis was desperate to get back on his feet and take care of Kimmy. The first six months were okay, but then a new manager, Mr. Robert Zillis, was hired.