Nancy Bartholomew

The language has been cleaned up to protect the innocent...

 

 

I hunched down behind the bumper of my sister, Jack’s 1962 Cadillac El Dorado and shivered in the late night air. Jack trained her neon yellow binoculars on the back exit of Sneaky Pete’s. I checked the safety on my Sig 9 m.m. Again. What possessed me to come here? What made me think risking my life would somehow erase the past three years of our lives? What made me think I could ever come home again?

I am doing penance, I reminded myself. Why else would a self-respecting P.I stoop to hunting a bail skip, low-life like Hector Luiz? Why else would I let my sister take the lead when it’s as clear as the nose on my face she doesn’t know squat about bounty hunting?

“Jack,” I whispered. “I think we should move the car. A guy like Hector is bound to have people. They see your car parked under the streetlight like this, with you dressed up like a hooker on holiday and I don’t gotta tell you, they’ll pull the plug on Hector’s booty call.”

Jack didn’t even lower the glasses when she answered me. “Excuse me, person-who-abandoned-this agency-so-she- could-‘follow’-her-heart-to-Las Vegas. I don’t recall asking for your opinion. You are my back-up. That’s all. I’m the primary. You said you’d do anything if I’d let you back in- Well, this is it. You work for me. You do what I say.”

I resisted the urge to reach out and strangle her, trying to reason with myself. Jack’s 35 going on 15. Worse than that, she’s a second born- so she’s got an ax to grind with me from the get-go. I was born first. So, she’s gotta show me. She’ll be tougher, smarter and faster than the big sister who left her hanging- even if she doesn’t have one athletic bone in her body.

Jack suddenly went still. She made a flapping motion with her pudgy arm and her gold bangles clattered around her wrist. I held my breath, hoping no one heard. Jack tugged at her bright yellow tube top, hitching it higher as she continued the losing battle with her double-D breasts and inched forward.

“It’s him!” she whispered excitedly. “There, next to the girl in the white shirt.”

I edged around the other side of the car, straining to make out the two figures on the concrete loading dock. We were in luck. Luiz didn’t have his security team with him. The take-down could be a cake walk. That is, if Hector was too busy chasing skirt to remember he was a wanted man. with a big price tag on his head.

I stayed in a low crouch behind the Caddy's rear bumper and studied our quarry.  I fingered the safety on my gun and sized up Hector’s girlfriend. She was about my height, 5’7 and runner-lean. Short, black hair cut in a boyish fringe shag that feathered around her face. Hector smiled at her,  inclined his head and motioned her forward, ahead of him, down the stairs and away from the lights.

“Atta boy, Luiz,” I murmured under my breath. “Come to Mama.”

Hector’s long, black hair was pulled back into a thin ponytail. His suit was tailor-made. He was years older than the girl. I knew this from reading the information folder Jack showed me before we left the office. He was in his mid-forties but the girl didn't look over 25. Money talks, I thought, watching the two of them. Otherwise, I couldn’t imagine why a good-looking woman was wasting her time on a low-life like Hector.

My sister crept up beside me. She reached inside her huge leather purse, fumbled around for a moment, swore softly and finally managed to extract a bright yellow Taser.

“Tell me that’s not real,” I whispered.

Jack grinned. “Oh, it’s real, all right. Just wait ‘til I take him down. Come on!”

Before I could react, before I could stop her, Jack jumped up and was made her move. She ran, clomping in her high heels and waving the Taser like a crazy woman.

“Hector!” she cried.

Luiz froze. The smile he’d been giving his girlfriend vanished. His face hardened into an ugly, reptilian mask. His right hand vanished beneath his suit jacket as he reached for his gun.

Something was very wrong here. Hector’s girlfriend jumped out in front of him, turned her head and yelled something I lost in the pandemonium of the moment.

Hector vanished back into the darkness of the parking lot as the building's back door burst open. Men with guns flooded out onto the concrete dock.

Jack fired the Taser but the twin prongs went wide, missing her target, if indeed there ever was a target.

“Bond enforcement agents!” I yelled, whipping my I.D out of my back pocket and waving it in the air. “Back the hell up!” I held the Sig out, making sure Hector’s body guards knew it was there, just so we were all aware I was legal and armed.

Jack was too hopped up on adrenaline to even hear me. She reached into the waistband of her black leather miniskirt and extracted yet another yellow Taser.

“Stop!” she screamed. The Taser crackled and this time found a victim.

 

 

A snippet from my day at the nursing home-

 

She is delusional and court-mandated to live in the nursing home after being found out on the streets. She hears God's voice, sometimes his voices and she is very suspicious- of everyone.  Sometimes the voices tell her the hidden agenda or meaning in the words of the person speaking to her.  Sometimes she can't tell the good voices from the bad, the truth from the lies.

Today she says "The doctor came to see me this morning. Is it true I must remain here always, until God calls me home?"

She is young and this is a hideous thought to contemplate.

"Is that really what he said?" I ask.

"I don't know," she says, slumping into a weary, resigned cocoon. "He said something wrapped inside something else."

 

 

 

The day the first Sierra Lavotini novel, The Miracle Strip, came out... 

 

 

About two months ago I started this blog so that the people who read my novels would have a way of finding out more about me, my writing and the writing process in general.  An unexpected surprise has been the upsurge in mail I've been getting about my Sierra Lavotini "Strip" series.  The support is so wonderful and so deeply appreciated! 

When Tom (see his comment below) wrote me today and asked if anyone else was wondering about Sierra, I thought it might be a good idea to share a few of the lovely notes I've received.  He also wanted a bit more of "Landing Strip," which made me think maybe I ought to post a page of some of my current Works in Progress, too.  What do you think?

In the meantime...here are those comments- 

 

Tom says: 

Subject: Bring Back Sierra, PLEASE!!!
Message: Ms Bartholomew: I have just finished re-reading the original set (you'll pardon the expression)of Strip books...I have also just finished reading your So, About Sierra blog...
I don't know how many people, if any, have been asking for the return of Ms Lavotini, but I am definitely in the class picture...
I am sure that you can extend upon your paragraph in that blog...at least, I hope so...Come on, Nancy...It's been too long...PLEASE!!!

 

From Robin:

Subject: sierra lavotini
Message: Hi,  I just found the sierra series and plowed through them at record speed.  I love her life and now I am left hanging not knowing who moose really is.  Any idea when Landing strip may be published or is that not ever going to happen?

From Cindy:

Subject: sierra
Message: Thank you for sharing Sierra with us. She is absolutely one of my favorite characters, she's just a riot. I hope one day soon I'll see her on the bookshelves again.

From Jennifer-

Subject: Your Cheatin Heart
Message: I just finished reading Your Cheatin Heart & loved it so much I ordered Stand By Your Man.  Is there any other books that go with those?  You're an amazing author.  I can't wait to read more of your books.  Please let me know about the series.  Gotta read them all....

From Julie-

Subject: SIERRA #5
Message: What is Sierra's book #5 called?
Has it been published?
I love the Sierra series.  I think St. Martins press sucks!!

 From Carol-

I also own all the Stella's and the Sophie.  Thanks for making me laugh.  My husband loves Sierra too.  I hope St. Martin's comes to their senses.  Could we start a writing campaign to get them to see reason?

Carol

From JJ-

Subject: best writer ever
Message: Thank you for returning my e mail...Please tell me you are writing another Sierra Lavotini mystery..the last one  (Strip Poker) left me wondering what happens next...I know that's  what it was supposed to do..Please let me know what you are writing..and when it is coming out........jj

 

 

From Michelle-

 Subject: what happens to sierra?????
Message: ok i just discovered your strip series and i am dying to know what happens to sierra after the last book.   when can we expect the next book or is the series done?  what happens after uncle moose calls her?

 

From Joe-

 Subject: Sierra Lavotini
Message: Any chance that Sierra might come back in another story?
I really enjoyed reading your stories about her.
Thanks.

 From Kim-

Message: Hi, I just started reading your books and I am hope you are going to do another Sierra Lavotini book. I just finish this last one in two days!
I just order some more of your books on amazon.

 

From Rachael- 

Subject: Your books..
Message: Hello Nancy,
My name is Rachael and I am a huge fan of your Sierra Lavotini Series. I was very upset to see there aren't anymore books out in this series. When will a new book by you be coming out? Are you still writing? If you have time to write me back, I would be so happy. I just would love to know what is going on with your books and such. Thanks.

 

From Sheila-

 

 

 

Around these parts, it's best not to ask too many questions.  After all, the cabin lies in the heart of "The Moonshine Capital of the World."

I was reading T.J Hazen's article on the history of Sloan's Mill the other night and found the tale of Bill Underwood.  It seems Mr. Underwood moved into the miller's house across the road from the mill and quickly irritated his neighbors with his constant inquiries into their activities.

When they'd had enough of Bill's nosiness, they snuck up on his steam tractor and blew up its boiler.  Unfortunately, the perpetrators were unaware that Bill had just sold it to another neighbor.

I don't have a tractor...yet...but I'm right partial to my convertible so...I won't be asking too many questions.  After all, why would I need to know what's going on around here? I write fiction.

 

 

Some days are just gloomy.

I don't mind the rain.

Not even the clouds.

Perhaps it's the air- heavy and thick,

sad.

It makes me want to eat

top-heavy, grocery store cupcakes.