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"The
written word is how we leave our legacy."
- Gery L. Deer
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Affiliations
FOUNDER:
Greater Dayton Area
Writers Forum
Vice President
 Greater Dayton
Professionals
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Writing: Creative Works
In addition to
being a working
journalist, Gery is expanding his more creative and recreational writing.
There are some examples on Gery's
blog at
Check them out today!
Currently in the works are -
"Everyone has a skill."
An autobiography of Gery L. Deer's
life through short stories, and "Why do bars have parking lots?"
- A short essay on the
hypocrisy of American society.
Two other novel projects are also
in the works including a science fiction story and one set for e-book and online
publication in the summer of 2010.
 Greater Dayton Area
Writers Forum
To help keep his own momentum in the creative areas, Gery
founded the GREATER DAYTON AREA WRITERS FORUM - an unincorporated not-for-profit
group designed to offer education and networking opportunities to writers of all
backgrounds and genres - novelists, short story writers, journalists, published
and unpublished. This is NOT an online group. Members meet and participate and
network.
Meetings of the forum are held the first Tuesday of each
moth at the Baymont Inn Hotel conference room at 730 E. Xenia Dr. in Fairborn,
Ohio 45324. Please sign up and RSVP at
http://www.meetup.com/GreaterDaytonAreaWritersForum/.
There is no charge for the meeting but attendees are encouraged to bring their
own refreshments and check the RSVP list to determine how many copies of their
written works to bring with them for critique. On Twitter at :
http://twitter.com/daytonwriters
 Currently on line: "If
they only knew!" and "Have
another chocolate pie Professor?"
Two stories inspired by actual
events in the Adventures of The Brothers & Co. Entertainers!
Here is a new short story sample ...
You can't
fight city hall. (Part 1)
A short story by Gery L. Deer June 2009
It's after 11 o'clock at night and I just put my last story to bed at the
newsroom and finally headed home. My name's Jack - Jack Reager. I'm a reporter.
I work the city beat in the biggest little town on the river. Walking through
the damp cold night, I started across the 32nd Street Bridge and suddenly felt
odd, you might even say nervous. There was no one on the streets, no one. It was
deserted. I was feeling more nervous than ever lately. You might even go so far
as to say paranoid.
You see the piece I just turned in was an expose about the dirty, rotten crime
boss who just got elected mayor. Ever since I started digging around city hall,
I've had to watch my back every minute. If it's this bad from just investigating
the guy, I can't imagine what it will be like tomorrow morning when the papers
hit the news stand.
Of course this whole mess is all her fault - that woman. It all started when I
got a telegram two days before from an anonymous source who wanted to meet me
with information about the mayor and his thugs that might help my story. The
message said to meet the contact at Mike's Place, a little hole-in-the-wall
saloon on 12th and Vine. I knew the joint well. I spent a lot of time there
after my divorce. I got real chummy with every brand of whiskey Mike had on the
shelf until I ended up in an A.A. meeting. I didn't think I could even walk
twelve steps, let alone work through my drinking that way, but I gave it a try.
Anyway, two nights ago, I walked into that smoky, dank room again that was so
familiar to me and sat down at the bar. It was a weird feeling though, because I
don't remember what it was like in here when I was sober. The owner, Mike, also
tended bar. He was a pretty good friend. Not only had he given me a lot of leads
over the years, he's the one that helped me dry out. "Mike," I said, knocking a
smoke out of a pack of Lucky Strikes, "have ya seen any new faces in here
tonight?" "Nah," he scoffed, looking around the room, squinting.
He stopped mid-sentence and put down the glass he was drying. Pointing to the
back of the bar he said, "yeah, come to think of it, she's new." He was
gesturing to the far rear booth, behind the jukebox. I tried to look through the
haze to see who he was referring to but all I caught was a glimpse of a pair of
dark glasses and the glow of a cigarette.
"We don't get that quality of a dame in here very often, ya know," Mike joked
smiling. "I can't really make out who you mean," I said, still squinting in the
darkness. "Back there," Mike insisted, "the blonde in the corner."
Finally, the restroom door nearby opened and illuminated the table where the
woman was sitting. As the light hit her, the smoke seemed to part like the Red
Sea as if she had willed it to happen. "Wow," I said under my breath, though
apparently loudly enough that Mike could hear me. "You said a mouthful pal," he
said. I crushed out my cigarette and turned to make my way over to her table.
"This can't be my contact," I thought, "and if she is, it's gotta be some kind
of joke."
My last step to the table brought me close enough to see that the skirt she was
wearing might just as well have been a handkerchief it was so short. Her red,
caped jacket had the hood pulled up to expose only the parts of her face
unshielded by the dark glasses she wore, outlined by locks of golden hair. She
lit a match to her cigarette with a gloved hand as I spoke.
"Little Red Riding Hood I presume," I said, dryly. "Sit down Mr. Reager, I don't
want to attract attention" Her interruption came in the form in a sultry voice
punctuated by a slight German accent. The sound of it ripped through me, leaving
me silent. Clearly, I had the right person.
"So what'd you want to see me about," I said, lighting another Lucky Strike and
pulling a drag off of it. "My husband," she said as she slipped the dark glasses
from her nose. "You know my husband, and you know things about him that could
destroy him." "And who is your husband," I asked, feeling the hair raise up on
the back of my neck. "Why, the mayor, of course," she said with a smirk.
I nearly dropped the cigarette from my mouth. "Are you nuts lady," I said, my
voice cracking, "I can't be seen with you, whatever you want, forget it." I
stood up and started for the door, pulling on my coat and dropping a five on the
bar for Mike as I went.
I cleared the saloon door and stepped off of the curb when I heard her call to
me from behind. "Jack, wait!" "No way lady," I yelled back at her without
turning around, "I don't want any part of you people. There has to be somebody
left in this crazy town that's not on your payroll." "Jack, he's going to kill
you."
I stopped midway across the street and spun around to face her. "What? Why?" She
stepped out into the street towards me, her high heels clicking on the
cobblestone bricks. "You got too close," she said, "He knows what you're going
to put in your paper. If you print it, he'll kill you."
Now I was just angry. I pulled my coat tighter around me and looked her right in
the eye. "I don't care lady," I said, lying through my teeth, "he's gotta be
stopped and I'm going to stop him." "Who the hell am I," I thought to myself as
I turned back around and started for the opposite curb again. The statuesque
woman stood motionless in the street, but said nothing else.
Why would she try to warn me? Who am I? Why would she even care? If my
information was right, her husband had offed dozens of people, what's one more?
Mike was right, broads like that don't hang around where a guy like me would be
drinking. Maybe she really was trying to help me, or maybe it was a trap. Either
way, I got out of there and didn't look back. But maybe I should have listened.
In the two days since I went to that bar I've had my car tires slashed, my
notebooks stolen from my apartment, and, I'm pretty sure I'm being followed
everywhere. But, I got the story and the Chief is going to run it in the morning
edition and just maybe, some good will come from it. So for tonight, I'm going
home and try to sleep. It's a good thing I quit drinking or I'd be loaded right
now just to forget about being worried someone was trying to scare me – or
worse.
On the bridge I came to the last lamp post before making my turn onto Riverside
drive for the 12 block walk to my apartment on 123rd Street. As I cleared the
edge of the cement post at the end of the bridge, I heard a clicking noise that
got my nerves up again. "Eh, stop it Jack," I said to myself out loud, "you're
getting jumpy." Then, another click, a loud bang, like a balloon popping and at
the same moment, I caught sight of a flash of light from the darkness ahead.
A breath later I felt a burning in my chest. I stopped walking and looked down.
In the light from the dim street lamp, I saw a wet spot of crimson growing from
behind the white oxford shirt and tie I wore beneath my overcoat. I touched it
carefully, "Blood," I thought to myself in horror. Another bang - another
burning sensation, this time my stomach. "She was right," I said aloud,
clutching my stomach, "She was right." I staggered over to the edge of the
bridge railing and leaned over it, coughing blood from my mouth. I felt
something push me off balance and I fell over the railing towards the dark cold
river. I gasped once more before crashing into the icy water below, "the blonde
in the corner was right."
Original Writing by Gery L.
Deer is Copyright 2008 - Gery L. Deer / GLD Enterprises and may not be used in
part or entirety without compensation and express written permission. For more
information email
gery@gerydeer.com
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