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  • Excerpts from a novel I have been writing (Redeux?)

    I may have posted this on the old forums, but I had trouble with the search function, so here we go again.

    Way back in 2003, I had a very intense dream which inspired a novel. It woke me up at 6:05 am. As I was trying to back to sleep, the entire novel's storyline popped into my head, including how the two lead characters in the dream met, how they got to the situation in the dream and several good subplots. The morning after, (around 8am) I sat down at the computer and started writing. I completed the first two chapters in a single day. As I continued working on it when I could, I met up with a local actor who was perfect for one of the lead roles. After discussing the story a bit with him, we decided to pursue shooting a short promotional video to send into to prospective publishers with the manuscript. I used social media at the time to do a "casting call" and got an interesting response from (allegedly) a semi-well known actor. Well needless to say he was a fake..wackiness ensued, along with a lot of drama that could make for an interesting novel in and of itself. That situation, combined with a bad case of writer's block, derailed the book. that was around 2005, with four chapters (of a planned 12-14) completed.

    Well in 2023 I found the manuscript and the saved thumb drive with the files and resumed working on the book. I am now in the first draft of Chapter 7 and continuing to work on it when I have time (and in the mood.)

    Since this is a work in progress I have to be careful what I share here, but I wanted to put a few excerpts on this thread to see what you guys think. I will be putting "The following is rated.." Ratings based on subject matter for each excerpt.


    This first one is the forward to the book. Enjoy! Rated G

    (I have Redacted names in the thanks section to protect privacy.)

    All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.


    AUTHOR’S FOREWORD:


    Every writer has his or her own source of inspiration, something that wakes up the muse within and motivates them to put their thoughts down onto paper (or as I’ve been doing, into a computer). That source can be almost anything, another writer’s works, music, movies, TV (now there’s a challenge), or in some cases, one’s own dreams. If all goes well, whatever the seed of an idea, with a lot of hard thought and long hours, it will grow into a fully fleshed out story, with all the elements working together to hold the reader’s interest. The process can be rewarding, and at times, extremely frustrating. But the end result is usually worth it.

    The story you’re about to read is not the first work I’ve written. Back in my high school days, I wrote many short screenplays, based on “what if” certain things happened during the making of an extremely popular film of the era. Of some twelve scripts, one was considered pretty good by an outside source, one was ok but implausible, and the other ten were bad and worse. The pretty good one took four drafts and two years to write. The problem was, it was actually the second half of a really good story line. I set about writing the first half, but was quickly thrown off track by many conflicts in continuity. Since at that point it was also obvious that the setting (most popular film of the era, remember?) meant that there was no way I’d get the rights to film my epic, it was shelved and forgotten. And so, for many years (and I’m not telling how many, I feel ancient enough) there was no writing career in my future.

    Over the years I had been in the military, raced motocross, worked as a sound engineer for concerts and shows, in the film industry as a projection technician, and had recently taken up snowboarding. Then, in January 2003, it happened. After a night of enjoying the concert DVD of my favorite metal band, I went to sleep with surprising ease. I need to digress here to let you know that when I dream, it’s a full-blown, Cinemascope, Dolby Digital big screen production. Well, that night, I had the dream that was the genesis of this book. Since that dream forms one of the key scenes in this story, I won’t reveal it here. But it was so powerful, especially as the music track fit it perfectly, that it woke me up at 6:05 am. (That’s where the title of the book came from, too.) For the record, I never get up that early unless there’s an earthquake or someone in the bed with me wanting attention. (Both very rare believe me.)

    Such was the power of this dream; I couldn’t fall asleep afterward. As I lie there, all of the characters fell into place, virtually the entire story line was filled out, and it all happened with amazing ease. That was something that had never happened before. So, I then found myself at the computer at the ungodly hour of 8 am, writing the entire first chapter in one sitting. And the best thing of all, after I’d written about half of the second chapter, my 19-year-old neighbor read it and his immediate reaction was “Dude, you gotta make this into a movie.”

    Now that was a hell of a thing to say. To be sure, it was quite a compliment that he felt the story was compelling enough to make a good film (I did verbally fill out the story line for him), but if he had any idea how difficult it is to write a screenplay! I subscribe to the theory that a good book has the five “W’s”, i.e. Who, What, Why, When and Where; a screenplay has those elements plus all the technical additions: Camera Directions, Narrative, Set Directions, Editorial, Actor's cues (“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille”), Special Effects, and so on. It’s too easy to let the story get out of control or diluted when trying to keep all that together. So, I’ve decided to write the novel first, and if I like it (And if you like it), do a screenplay later.

    As I’d mentioned, the story fell into place quickly. The characters were also surprisingly easy to create as well. So, about them, here’s how they came to life: Derek Jr, the pro snowboarder, is a composite of many people I’ve met during my motocross days and snowboarding. His attitude is the darker, more badass side of my own, and his issues are mine also. Marcus is the closest to what I really wanted to be, in terms of his motocross success and his looks and personality. Derek Sr. is exactly the opposite of my own father in terms of personality and relationship ability. My father, though not rich, always provided for our family. God bless him. Marsha, Derek Sr.’s ex wife and Derek’s mother, is based on a mom who I knew from motocross, she was always there for her son and had a dry sense of humor. Most of the other characters, like Tom, Sam, Bill, Dale, Harold, Travis, and so on just fit right in, most based in one way or another with past acquaintances.

    And the rest…. Well, you’ll have to read the book to get the rest. Some of you may find certain elements of this story uncomfortable or disturbing, and for that I make no apologies. Some of the greatest works by authors, playwrights and artists are controversial. And no, as a first-time author I do not presume to compare myself to them or ascribe some over-inflated sense of importance to this book. But in the course of writing this book and through the proofreading and editing, I found that any changes I made to tone down the narrative diluted the dramaturgy of the story. I did make some concessions in regards to language, as the real dialog of Derek Jr. and the other extreme – sports folks would come across as unbearable in print.

    A famous author once said something to the effect that he wrote to please himself and if the public liked the work, terrific. If not, that was still ok, because he had told his story anyway. And that, my friends, is exactly how I feel about this story. It has given me a lot of pleasure to create (and a few migraines along the way) and from my seat, that’s good enough. But if you also find it compelling, intense and enjoyable, then that’s just the icing on the cake for me.

    So, with that all said, I would like to thank many people for their help, comments and inspiration in writing this book: xxx, my neighbor, who provided support and helped with the accuracy of the lingo for the snowboarding scenes; xxx, who kindly agreed to help proofread this book, all of the motocross racers I’ve met over the years who are all in some way incorporated into the story; the linemen of (utility) and (utility) who endured my questions for technical details on power transmission and distribution; and finally my Father (Passed Oct. 1999) and Mother (Passed Dec. 2020), who supported me no matter what crazy thing I was trying to do. I miss them both a lot.

    Now it’s your turn to discover the end result of years (now decades) of lost sleep, reams of paper and a lot of joy, tears, and anxiety.. Enjoy!!


    Tony Bandiera Jr., 2003, 2023



    Story to be continued.....

  • #2
    So all 462 pages of it just popped into your head??? Wait!... How would I know there are 462 pages?

    Comment


    • #3
      Originally posted by Mark Gulbrandsen View Post
      So all 462 pages of it just popped into your head??? Wait!... How would I know there are 462 pages?
      LOL not all of the pages at once of course. But many of the main story elements and several subplots, as well as most of the characters and their parts in the story. And have you hacked my computer?

      Interesting on your page count...I think that when the story is finished, and reformatted to a typical book page size and font, it will end up being around 350-450 pages. I am currently writing it in a standard 8x11 page format with specific custom margin settings (which I had to edit out the html size tags from in that previous excerpt) and at 5 pages in to Chapter 7 the page count is 100. Each chapter is averaging 20-24 pages (except Ch. 5, it was taking place on a Sunday and was short at 15 pages.)

      Here's the next bit I want to share, it's the two leads having some fun. (Marcus is a Pro mx rider, Derek a pro snowboarder) Rated strong PG-13 for language.

      All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.


      SECRET MX TRACK

      The sounds of the two Yamahas grew in intensity as Derek and Marcus emerged from the tree line. Side by side they raced toward the big triple jump, each pushing the other faster and harder as they pounded through the rockers. Derek’s laughter rang out as they took the face of the jump side by side, Marcus shooting him a quick thumbs up as they caught air. Derek whipped his bike sideways, the same move he did in the garage. They landed and headed into the berm, Marcus cutting to the inside in an aggressive move that nearly sent Derek off the track.

      “Oh, you wanna play rough, huh?” Derek shouted.

      Marcus laughed in reply and cut him off heading into the next corner. Derek upshifted and pinned the throttle down the short straightaway leading to a step-up jump. He moved over to take the line away from Marcus, but the pro MX’r was ready with a counter move that had them bumping off each other on the face of the jump. Derek struggled to keep control and almost lost it at the launch. He turned to glare at Marcus who laughed again. On the backside of the jump, both riders pinned the gas to gain an advantage through the whoops and set up for the next jump.The kid’s fuckin fast, Marcus grunted. But he doesn’t know all the tricks…

      Marcus gained ground through the whoops, a bike’s length advantage, which he exploited into the corner, solidly slamming the door on Derek who cursed out loud. In desperation Derek tried to make a pass, but Marcus anticipated the move and blocked him again. As they raced to the face of the next jump Derek made a daring pass move that almost put them both on the ground. In midair Marcus whipped his bike to show Derek who the best rider was. They landed from the jump, cut back across the track to stop at the truck. Marcus put his bike on the stand, whipped off his helmet and just as Derek got his bike on its stand, crossed to Derek and pushed him in the chest with both hands.

      “You fucking maniac!! What the hell was that pass about?!”

      Derek pulled his helmet off, his hair plastered to his head and face red and sweaty.

      “Dude, what’s eating you?”

      “You almost took us both out, you idiot!!”

      “Too aggressive for you, wanker?”

      Marcus’ anger quickly faded, and he shook his head as he moved toward Derek.

      “Ohhh, you little….I’ll show you aggressive..”

      “Bring it on, bud.” Derek laughed and raised his fists playfully.

      Marcus led with his right fist as Derek blocked and countered, spinning around and away. They closed in again, sparring playfully, each landing some shots on the other. Marcus moved in and put Derek into a headlock.

      “Dude, it smells under here, let go!!”

      Marcus tightened the lock. “Too bad. I had to put up with your shoes, so deal with it!!”

      Derek struggled to break free, finally shifting position and getting Marcus off balance. He rolled into the move, sending Marcus over his back and to the ground. Derek jumped on him and they wrestled, the advantage shifting places. A few rollovers, then Derek pinned Marcus down on his back. Sitting on Marcus’ legs, Derek pinned his arms down and grinned.

      “Ha! Even my brother couldn’t out-wrestle me!!”

      Panting, totally out of breath, Marcus grinned back up at Derek.
      “Alright, you win. Get off of me.”

      Derek didn’t move. He gave Marcus that crooked smile, also panting heavily. He slowly leaned in, his face inches from Marcus’, eyes half closed.

      Oh, gods. He’s gonna kiss me, Marcus thought.

      “Whatever you want, stud.” He got up, extending his hand down to Marcus. He pulled Marcus up and gave him a quick hug. “Let’s eat, I wanna ride some more.”

      He crossed to the cooler in the truck, grabbed a sandwich and drink and sat down on the tailgate. He pulled off his jersey, wiping his face and armpits with it. He then attacked his food. Marcus watched this, still not sure what had just happened. Am I reading too much into this, he mused. Or is Derek just trying to shock me? He shook his head and crossed to the truck.

      Last edited by Tony Bandiera Jr; 12-14-2024, 02:47 PM. Reason: Add copyright notice

      Comment


      • #4
        C'mon guys and gals, I'd like to hear your input on these, good bad or otherwise.

        Tonight's excerpt is from one of the subplots, and it is different, but plays a role in the other elements of the story. I wrote this in 2003 and it is largely unchanged since then.

        WARNING: Rated R for graphic depictions of injury/death.

        All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.

        DWP SIMI VALLEY SUBSTATION, 15 YEARS AGO

        The hum from the barely controlled energy coursing through the transformers and breakers filled the air. Sam always felt some apprehension whenever he entered a substation or generating plant. His training always emphasized the danger of working around high voltage power, and that it behaved in sometimes unpredictable ways. As a trouble call lineman he’d seen some strange things, things which in theory could not happen. And the consequences were always destructive and sometimes deadly. Today’s assignment was a relatively simple one. A bank of enclosed circuit breakers operating at 16kv were to be inspected. The bank of six breakers fed various customer circuits in the area. Each breaker, about four feet tall, three wide and three deep, were of the type known as “draw-out” or “truck” breakers. After the breaker was switched off, two release latches were rotated and the entire breaker could be pulled out of the cabinet for work to commence. As the breaker was withdrawn from the cabinet, safety shutters of red fiberglass closed over the connection studs to the always live 16,000 volt buss bars.

        Sam’s job was to supervise the inspection and any repairs to the breakers, as well as overseeing the complex switching operation which allowed the power to remain on to the customers. This switching operation did, however, add an extra hazard to the work. Because of the backfeed, the studs in the cabinet for the load, or controlled side of these breakers were now fully energized. The load side studs did not have the safety shutters. The crew was briefed to stay clear of the studs at all times. They worked with pleasing efficiency, fixing each breaker in turn and returning it to the cabinet, awaiting its return to service. While returning the fourth breaker to the cabinet, trouble developed.

        “Shit.”

        “What’s wrong?”

        “Don’t know, Sam. It won’t lock in.”

        “Is it seating fully?”

        “Yeah…wait, no….aw hell..”

        “Let me take a look, Paul.”

        Paul drew the breaker fully out of the cabinet and began to check for anything which would bind it up. Everything looked normal. Sam also didn’t notice anything amiss. Shrugging, Sam sighed. “Try it again.”

        Paul rolled the recalcitrant breaker back into its spot, this time pushing hard at the end of its travel. The metal-to-metal contact of the cabinet stops hid the cracking sound. But the unit still wouldn’t latch.

        “No dice.”

        “Fuck. Pull it back out.”

        As Paul began to pull, an ominous buzzing sound started from within the cabinet.

        “Wait!! Don’t move anything!!” Sam paled. “Get clear, everybody!”

        With amazing speed, the area cleared as the crew backed away from the cabinet. Abruptly, the buzzing stopped. The crew exchanged worried glances, thinking how close they came to being fried. Sam furrowed his brow.

        “Why did it stop?”

        Paul shrugged. “Maybe the breaker was picking up load.”

        Sam glared. “Impossible. It’s off, for one thing. And we’re backfeeding the load.”

        “Cross-phasing?”

        “No way. We’d be toast if it tried.”

        “Then what?”

        Sam considered his options. First, he could kill the power to the entire cabinet including the backfeeds, an option which would make the boss, Devon Slade, very unhappy. Not to mention dropping power to a lot of customers. He could restore normal feeds to all but the affected circuit, which would minimize the outage, but meant that any failure in the cabinet could cascade to the other circuits. After weighing the risks, he decided on a course of action.

        “O.K., here’s how we’re gonna tackle this. Eric, you and John go to the yard and cut out the backfeed to Papillion six circuit. Lock out the bus tie breaker to not reclose on a fault. Paul, you and I will hat up and try to withdraw that breaker again and figure out what the hell’s going on.”

        “You want Papillion six grounded out?”

        “No, Eric. I don’t want a fault to ground in that cabinet.”

        “Do you think….”

        Sam flared: “Do as you’re told! Now move!”

        Eric and John retreated, muttering. Sam glared at Paul, who now looked a bit pale.

        “Alright, Paul, let’s get this bitch out.”

        They both put on their gloves and goggles, minimal protection against the voltage they faced. Both carried on with the attitude that since it was metal enclosed gear, what could possibly go that far wrong?

        Eric radioed in: “Simi lead one, simi four. Papillion six ABC phases cut. Bus tie Turbo2 on no reclose.”

        Sam responded: “Copy simi four. Papillion ABC dead, Turbo 2 no shot. Come on in.”

        Out in the yard, Eric and John were staring in disbelief at the radio. First this breach of safety rules, now he wants us to come in and leave the switchyard? Eric keyed his radio:

        Simi lead, simi four. Say again?”

        Sam growled back: “Simi four, lead. Get back in here.”

        Copy.”

        John sighed. “He’s in charge.”

        Eric grimaced. “Yeah, and we’re the ones who get fucked when something happens.”

        Back inside, Sam and Paul cautiously withdrew the breaker.

        “Look at that, Sam.”

        “That” was a large burn mark, extending from the “C” phase line side socket to the breaker’s housing. Sam groaned as he realized the damage meant the breaker had to be sent to the factory for repair. But how did it happen? And why was the socket’s outer insulating sleeve cracked? While Sam was mulling over this unpleasant information, he didn’t notice that Paul had gone inside the cabinet for a closer look. Paul noticed that the safety shutter for the “C” phase stud was damaged. With his right hand, he tried to move the damaged shutter aside. In his cramped position, he’d placed his other hand on the load studs as he pushed against the shutter. His bare elbow was touching the metal side of the cabinet. He began to sweat as he struggled to get the shutter unjammed.

        Eric and John entered as Sam turned to chew Eric out for questioning his orders. He never got to say a word. The shutter broke free and the line stud’s edge cut through the glove. Paul began to scream as blue flames enveloped his elbow and both hands. With an incredible concussion which knocked everyone to the ground, a massive explosion and fireball enveloped Paul. The nightmarish buzzing of electricity out of control overrode Paul’s eldritch scream as the 16,000 volts coursed through his body. Sam watched in horror, even as he shouted to Eric and John: “KILL BUS TIE TURBO TWO AND REDRIDER TWO!! GO!! GO!!”

        The radios came alive with calls as Operations noticed the fault on their monitors, not believing what the system was doing. The substation hotline phone rang with an insistent urgency. Sam ran to it, never taking his eyes off of the horrifying sight of Paul. He picked up the phone and shouted: “Emergency!! Man in contact with live circuit! Kill Simi substation immediately! Roll emergency services, fire and medics!”

        As Eric and John reached the breakers, the entire yard resounded with the bangs and arcs as the command from operations began to shut down the entire station. They both jumped as they realized the gravity of what was happening.

        “Holy fuckin shit!! We gotta get out of here!” John turned to run, but Eric grabbed him.

        “No!! Stay cool, man. They’re just shutting it down.”

        Eric turned back toward the building and noticed the smoke roiling out of the breaker cabinet vent stack. John looked up and sickly realized what it was. He turned away and retched.

        Inside, Sam wondered for the millionth time when the bastards would cut the power.

        Abruptly, all noise ceased as the emergency lights came on. In the distance he could hear the sirens approaching. How long had Paul been in contact? It had seemed like an eternity, watching a man die in the worst possible way. He knew, without looking, there was no chance he’d survived. The whole area reeked with the stench of death, mixed with the ozone from the sustained high current arc.

        Simi station, Simi station, are you down? Respond please.”

        Sam stared at the phone in his hand and slowly, softly replied:
        “Control, we’re offline. Please notify EMS of one confirmed fatality.”

        He set the phone down as the sirens grew louder and abruptly stopped. With the walk of a man many years older, he went outside to direct the rescue crews.


        ***End excerpt***

        Here is a video from Russia which shows this situation in real life (thankfully with no fatality) but it is an accurate visual of the fault that started in the breaker cabinet in the story. Unlike in my novel, it progressed to eventually damage the entire substation. :


        https://www.youtube.com/shorts/KCQtgc-3XEI

        Comment


        • #5
          Tonight's excerpt introduces you guys to Derek's parents. As you'll see they had a rocky marriage, and dad has some issues:

          Rated PG-13 for language.

          All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.​​



          SALCON BUILDING, CEO’s OFFICE

          Derek Sr. began poring over the new reports streaming in on his data terminal. Bill Jenkins reported no luck yet in locating Dale’s next of kin. Legal had set up meetings with DWP and was requesting a meeting with him regarding Dale’s family or lack thereof. He sighed heavily. This is never going to end… He typed in a terse response to the request. Julie entered and brought him a lunch tray complete with drinks. He smiled at her.

          “Thanks. You’ve read my mind.”

          “With everything going on I had a feeling you’d not eaten yet.”

          She sat on the edge of the desk and poured the drinks.

          “Any luck with Dale’s family?”

          She frowned. “No. The only relatives we’ve found are his wife and kids, but they’re listed as casualties from the quakes.”

          “What about the emergency contacts from his record?”

          “He’d listed his wife.”

          “I think we need to re-evaluate our policy on emergency contacts.”

          “I’ve already asked Tom to draw up something for you to review.”

          Derek reached over and kissed her. “You’re the best.”

          She smiled coyly: “I know.”

          They kissed again.

          Marsha Slade walked into the office. Her face hardened at the sight of Julie and Derek’s lunchtime tryst.

          “Well, Derek, I see you haven’t changed much.”

          They broke off the kiss, Derek’s face reddening and Julie’s eyes piercing Marsha.

          “What are you doing here?”

          “I’d ask you the same question, but why bother?”

          “Julie, we’ll continue later…”

          Julie got up and left the office, glaring at Marsha, who returned the stare watt for watt.

          “What ever do you see in her? No, wait. It must be the silicone.”

          “If you’ve come here to discuss my sex life, I have no time for this…”

          “Funny, I’ve heard that before…in our bedroom, I think.”

          “Marsha, this is not the time to get into our past. I’ve got a lot to deal with now…”

          “Yes, I know. It’s all over the news…”

          Genuine surprise. “What?”

          “Sam Adams was on the vid net, explaining how there was a control system malfunction, which led them to believe the power was off.”

          Derek seethed: “That son of a bitch…”

          “Is this how you treat your friends?”

          “Marsha, you don’t have all the facts. He’s covering up a serious mistake that got a man killed!”

          “As if you’ve never covered up accidents…”

          His temper flared and Marsha flinched. “I’ve never killed a man!!”

          She backed down, realizing the danger. He would hit me over this…

          “I know that, and I’m sorry. I really came here to see Derek.”

          Another hard look. “He’s not here.”

          “I can see that. Where is he?”

          “I don’t know, he never talks to me, you know that.”

          “This is getting me nowhere. What hotel is he staying at?”

          “He’s not at a hotel. He’s been staying with Marcus Reed.”

          “Isn’t he the motocross racer?”

          “Yeah, he is.”

          She pursed her lips. “What are you trying to do to that kid?”

          “Marsha, you’re talking in riddles…”

          “Still trying to manipulate him into what you wanted to be?”

          “What I wanted…. That kid pissed away his chance to be a top racer, and you’re accusing me?”

          “You pushed him into snowboarding…”

          “I did no such thing!! He started it to show up his brother!”

          “And he did, too. Now he’s the top pro.”

          “What’s your point?”

          “Did you even try to support his racing?”

          “I bought him anything he wanted...”

          “But did you actually support him? I don’t recall you ever going to any of his races.”

          “You were there…”

          “I’m his mother!! The boy needed his father to show his support, not his mom! The other riders didn’t understand him, they talked about him behind his back.”

          “Oh, no, we’re not going there again…”

          “Stop being such an ass. You know damn well he’s not like you, or Dylan.”

          “Derek is not a faggot!”

          “Maybe not. But what if he is? He’s still your son.”

          “I’m not discussing this any more. You can coddle the boy all you want, I think he’s a little punk who still needs to grow up.”

          “With your attitude toward him, he’ll never grow up. It’s easier to rebel than conform.”

          “He’s got to quit taking the easy way out, then.”

          She sighed. He’ll never get it, she thought. “Who said his life was easy?”

          Comment


          • #6
            Next up:

            The last excerpt showed a bit of the dynamic with Derek's dad and mom, who are divorced. As you saw, Derek Sr. is not exactly a model father figure, and is "Egyptian" (living in denial).

            Today's excerpt will show the dynamic between father, son and employee as Derek Jr. and Marcus visit the office (Derek Jr. wants to use the company jet so he and Marcus can go snowboarding in Colorado.)

            Rated PG-13 for language.

            All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.​​​



            SALCON BUILDING, CEO’s OFFICE

            Marcus and Derek entered. Sr. noted that Derek wasn’t wearing his usual smug look, and in fact seemed to be troubled by something.

            “Mr. Slade…”

            “How are you doing, Marcus? What brings you here today?”

            “May we…” Indicates the chairs.

            With forced patience: “Please.”

            Derek and Marcus sat down. Marcus noted the tension between father and son, and wondered what it was all about. “Just wanted to check in and see when I’m gonna be back to work.”

            Both Dereks regarded him with a surprised look.

            “You’re on paid leave, you know. What’s the rush?”

            Now it was Marcus’ turn to be evasive. “Just wanna get back to work.”

            “Ah...Don’t worry, Big Bertha’s fine. We’re looking to move her to another site soon.”

            Derek Jr. gave Marcus a quizzical look:

            “Big Bertha?”

            “It’s my Auto-Salvage machine.”

            Derek Sr. chuckled at Marcus’ possessive attitude. “Well, you have contributed much to the design.” An uncomfortable pause.

            Sr. stared at Jr. for a moment, then to Marcus: “So, what have you been up to?”

            “We went riding yesterday.”

            “So you’re getting along, then?”

            Marcus saw a flash of anger on Derek Jr.’s face. Whoa, no wonder the kid’s pissed at the old man…if he’s always presumed guilty of something. Marcus decided to answer in kind:

            “Why wouldn’t we get along?”

            Derek Jr. shot Marcus a look. Oh, man. I love you for that!

            Sr. was surprised by the tone: “No reason in particular.”

            Jr. snorted. Marcus shot him another look: Keep quiet, bud.

            “Yeah, he gave me a run for my money. The kid’s got real talent on a bike.”

            “That’s what I’ve told him before.”

            Derek Jr’s face clouded with anger, Marcus’ with a tight grin. So now I see the true colors…

            “In fact, I was telling him this morning he shouldn’t be snowboarding, he should be racing.”

            “Really?” To Derek: “Is that what you want?”

            Bombs away. “How the fuck would you know what I want?”

            Marcus reached out and punched Derek’s arm. “Chill, dude.”

            Derek shot Marcus a glare. What the fuck?…

            Marcus continued: “Boss, maybe it’s not my place to say anything, but have you ever talked to Derek about what he wanted to do?”

            Derek Jr. sighed: “Marcus…”

            “D, shut up.” To Sr.: “Well?”

            The boss looked from one to the other before responding. “Marcus, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but you are correct that it’s not your place….”

            Derek Jr. returned the punch to Marcus: “Now do you see what I have to deal with?”

            He stood up to leave. “Forget it, old man. I knew this would be a waste of time.” His voice began to break: “You never gave a fuck about me before, so why should you now?” To Marcus: “Let’s go. I’ve got another idea.”

            “Derek, wait, bro…”

            Derek stopped, arms crossed. Sr. regarded this with surprise. Amazing. What did Marcus do to have control over that kid? He never listens to me…

            Marcus turned to his boss: “Look, from what I see you two don’t even bother to talk to each other.” Icy stare from both sides. “And boss, I don’t think he’s as bad as you’re trying to make him out to be.”

            “I’m not saying he is…”

            “Mr. Slade, it’s obvious.” He paused, then: “When was the last time you heard your son laugh?”

            “The last time…”

            “From the night he first showed up at my apartment, Derek has been happy and relaxed. He laughed his ass off yesterday while we were riding.”

            Derek Jr. gave Marcus an uncomfortable smirk. Dude, you could lose your job talking to the old man like this, please…

            Marcus caught the look but plowed on: “From what I’ve just seen in this room, I don’t think he’s laughed much around you.”

            Sr.’s face reddened. “Marcus, you have been a great asset to this company and to me. But do not presume you’re qualified to sit in judgment on how I raise my family.”

            Jr. groaned. Marcus, back down now. This is a no-win situation, bud.

            “Maybe you’re right.” Now Marcus stood up to leave. “But you know I am too.” He grabbed Derek by the arm and they walked, stopping at the door. “We’re going out of state this weekend. I’ll check in Monday. Let’s go, Derek.”

            They walked out, leaving Sr. in shock. What the hell just happened here?




            SALCON BUILDING ELEVATOR

            Derek stared at Marcus, who outwardly was as calm as can be. Inside, he realized what a chance he’d taken getting into the family matters of the Slades. Derek finally found his voice.

            “Dude, you are either really stupid or have the biggest balls…”

            “Why?”

            “Why?! Do you know what would have happened if I talked to him like that?”

            “No, I don’t. Tell me.” Dive right in, kid. Now they’ll both be pissed at you.

            “For starters, how about a backhand across the mouth?”

            Dismissive wave. “Nah, I’ve argued with your dad a lot louder and stronger before.”

            Surprise. “About what?”

            “Big Bertha’s modifications, for starters. I think I referred to its original design as ‘the biggest tub of shit ever assembled’ or something like that.”

            Derek regarded Marcus with newfound respect. Or maybe admiration for someone who defies authority without fear of the consequences. “Like I said, stupid or big balls.” Pause. “Maybe both.”

            Marcus grinned at him. “More of the second one, I think.”

            Wryly: “Don’t know, haven’t seen ‘em yet.”

            The elevator doors opened, making Marcus withhold his reply.

            “Anyway, there’s no way the old man’s gonna let us use the company jet to go this weekend.”

            “Who says we have to use the company jet?”

            “Well why not? I mean the bastard’s never done anything for me anyway.”

            Marcus cringed at Derek’s tone. “And you think he owes you this?”

            “Damn straight. At the least.”

            They walked out the door into the parking lot.

            “Derek, I don’t get it.”

            “What’s to get? You don’t know what it was like, growing up with him…”

            “Was it really that bad?”

            “Yeah.”

            They got to Marcus’ truck. As they got in, Derek paused then went on:

            “Tell me, did your old man ever hit you?”

            “A couple times. Mainly for mouthing off.”

            Derek shook his head. “No, dude. I mean really hit you. Beat you.”

            “No.”

            “Well, his idea of dealing with problems was to use his fists. On me, sometimes on my brother.”

            Marcus noticed the haunted look on Derek’s face. Man, it must have been rough…I figured the old man would drive his kids hard, but to thump ‘em….

            “Derek…”

            The hard stubborn look returned. “Enough of that shit. Now how are we gonna get to Colorado?”

            Marcus started the truck. “Well, first things first. We need to go get your gear and pack, then we can arrange a flight.”

            “Don’t need to get the gear. I’ve got all we need there.”

            “But my clothes…”

            “Don’t sweat it. Got that covered too. Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

            “Right then. To the airport.”

            “Let’s rock, stud.”

            They drove off, Derek playfully punching Marcus in the arm again. Marcus was still surprised at how mercurial Derek is. It’s never dull with this guy around, he mused.

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            • #7
              Today's excerpt covers a few things, One, a "reporter" and his creepy photographer/partner who are stalking Derek to dig up trash about his personal life. (Think tabloid.) You'll also meet Travis, a young snowboarder with a prosthetic leg who Marcus ran over getting off the chairlift his first time trying 'boarding, and finally another teen 'boarder who gets a surprise gift. .

              Work on the novel continues, I have now completed and edited Chap. 7 of a planned 14-15 total.

              Rated R for language.

              All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.​​​

              THE MOUNTAINS OF COLORADO

              Derek, Marcus and Travis charged down the mountain, making the most of their final run of the day. They laughed as they sprayed snow on each other as they turned, and each tried to outdo the other on the jumps and half-pipe. Derek frequently turned around and rode backwards to encourage and taunt Marcus and Travis.They reached the bottom of the run to find a rather large crowd gathered near the lodge. From within the circle of people they could hear an argument raging.

              Derek raised his goggles and furrowed his brow: “What the hell’s going on?”

              Travis paused to listen, then: “Sounds like your reporter friend’s got his shorts in a knot about something.”

              Marcus groaned as he saw Derek’s expression harden into the look he’d come to know so well, the one usually followed by a fight. Derek unstrapped his board and began to push through the crowd. Marcus did the same and Travis followed right behind, with a bemused look. This’ll be good, he thought. I’ll get to see Derek kick someone’s ass….

              The reporter and his partner were arguing with one of the resort’s employees. The ‘boarder who had alerted the resort manager to the reporter’s plan to stalk Derek and his friends stood and watched. The reporter was still upset because he and his partner were denied access to the lifts. The debate had lasted well over an hour, with neither side willing to compromise. What the reporter didn’t know was the resort’s owner was one of Derek’s primary sponsors, and his client’s privacy (as much as a famous pro has, anyway) was more important than the rantings of some hack from a no-name mag anyway.

              “You cannot deny me the right to cover my story,” the reporter whined. “I owe that to my readers and my employer.”

              The resort owner wasn’t moved. “To cover events, yes. To dig up personal information and harass someone out with his friends, no.” Derek approached, looking thoroughly pissed off. “Hello, Derek.”
              Derek handed his board to a stunned teen standing nearby.

              “Hey Dave, what’s going on? Is this pile of shit stinking up the place again?”

              A few surprised gasps from the group, but also a lot of wry grins. The owner shook his head. He may be rough, but the kid’s got a lot of talent. And he’d made a lot of money for the resort, doing promo vids and personal appearances. Dave had found the best way to deal with Derek when he was worked up like this was to play along.

              “It seems he wants to cover more than your ‘boarding today.”

              Marcus and Travis pushed through to stand next to Derek. Travis stared at the reporter’s partner, causing the youth to turn away. Punk ass, Travis smirked. Go whack off, pervert. Travis was jolted out of his victory by the tone of Derek’s voice.

              “Yeah, I’d figured as much. Now what’s his malfunction?”

              “He wants me to give him his money back.”

              “Really?” Derek crossed to the reporter, who backed up into another ‛boarder. Marcus rushed to restrain Derek as he reached for the reporter. Derek grabbed the chain with the lift pass and jerked, breaking it from around the terrified man’s neck. Derek glared at the reporter as if to let him know that he’s lucky it was only the chain he broke. He looked at the pass, gave the reporter a scowl then turned and tossed the pass to Dave. “Didn’t know you gave refunds on comp press passes.” He grabbed the pass from the young photographer and walked back to Dave. “Betcha he didn’t pay for parking either.”

              “In that case, I think this discussion is over.” He nodded to the employees standing nearby. “Please escort these gentlemen to their vehicle, watch them leave, and let Security know that they are no longer welcome here.”

              The reporter sputtered in protest: “You can’t do that! We’ll pay for the parking and the lift passes…”

              Derek turned red and lunged toward the reporter. Marcus tried to stop him but got pushed aside.

              “The fuck you will!! Too late for that!! You heard what the man said, now leave!!”

              “Derek…”

              He turned to Marcus, eyes blazing: “Stay out of this!!”

              Marcus paused, then stormed off, pushing through the group and entering the lodge.

              Travis looked from Marcus to Derek, then went after Marcus.

              Everyone stood frozen in place, not moving, completely silent. Derek’s breath rasped out, visible in the cold air, as he stood clenching and unclenching his fists. When he spoke again, breaking the tableau of tension, a few people jumped.

              Softly: “I should kick both your asses right here and now, but it’s been a fucking long day and I’m tired.”

              The reporter gulped: “Derek…”

              “Don’t….” With forced restraint: “Just leave, now. Don’t ever show your face around me again.”

              “I just…”

              “Stop. I don’t care about you, your readers or your job. Get the fuck out of my face.” To the resort employees: “Take him out of here.”

              They nodded and escorted the reporter and his partner away. Derek watched them go, his anger subsiding. With a lopsided grin he turned to the crowd:

              “Show’s over, folks. Be sure to come back tomorrow for the matinee performance.”

              His remark had the intended effect as most of the spectators chuckled and drifted away. Dave crossed to Derek and put his arm around his shoulders. The teen holding Derek’s board waited in awe, still not sure what had just happened.

              “Dave, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?”

              “It’s not your fault, Derek, the guy’s a parasite.”

              “Yeah, but…”

              “Dude, look. You’re a celebrity now. Everyone, whether good, bad or ugly is going to want to get to know you on a personal level.”

              And that terrifies me more than any stunt I’ve ever done on a bike or ‘board… “I guess you’re right.”

              They walked to the awestruck teen holding Derek’s board. The teen found his voice:

              “Dude,….I know this is kinda not the right time…..but……could I get your autograph?”

              Derek gave Dave a wry smile. Dave nodded and pulled a marker from his pocket. Derek took his board from the teen. The kid was looking for a scrap of paper for Derek to sign, and didn’t notice as Derek signed his own board.

              “What’s your name, kid?”

              The teen mumbled as he continued his search: “Ryan.”

              “Here ya go, Ryan.” He handed the autographed board back to Ryan, who looked up in surprise.

              “No fucking way!!”

              “Way, dude. Enjoy it.”

              “Oh, man…..I ……dude, you’re the best!! Thanks!!”

              Sincere smile: “No prob, Ryan. Thanks for hanging on to it for me.”

              “Cool!”

              He and Derek went through the traditional snowboarder’s handshake ritual, then Ryan took his prize and went to the parking lot to show his buddies. Dave turned to Derek and shook his head.

              “That was your favorite board.”

              “I know.” And now it’s gonna be Ryan’s.

              “Derek, you really are a good person, you know?”

              Yeah, and now I’ve got to go make up with another good person…. “Sometimes I’m not so sure, Dave.”

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              • #8
                Tonight's excerpt takes us back to the beginning of the story. Derek arrived at Marcus' apartment the night before, and this is the first morning they spend together, right before they go to the track. You'll find out the story on Derek's "rank-ass shoes", and one of the antics Derek pulled that got him in trouble with a major sponsor (and prompted the old man to drag him to the company to do some hard work.)

                Rated R for language.

                All material and excerpts (c) 2003, 2024 Tony Bandiera Jr. All rights reserved.​​​​


                MARCUS’ APARTMENT


                Derek Jr. tossed and turned fitfully. He suddenly woke up, throwing the covers off and looking around the room in a panic. As he remembered where he was, he slowly sat up with his knees drawn into his chest. He put his head down and groaned. Damn, I drank waaay too much last night… He noticed all the bottles lying around and the spot on the wall where Marcus had thrown the bottle last night. Fuck, I hope I didn’t do that…

                He turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Marcus strode down the hall, with a towel wrapped around his waist and whistling. He scratched himself and wrinkled his nose.

                “What the hell smells in here?”

                Derek lifted his arm and sniffed. “Not me…oh, wait, it’s my shoes. Sorry.”

                He got up, picked up his shoes and opening the front door tossed them onto the porch.

                “I thought you had a shoe sponsor?”

                Derek closed the door. “I do...did…well…”

                Marcus crossed to the kitchen and began pulling out the pans to make breakfast. The noise was too much for Derek: “Dude, easy with the pans, K?”

                Marcus chuckled. “Too much beer last night, wanker?”

                “WANKER? Ohhh….” He groaned. Raising your voice is bad idea, dude.

                Marcus opened the fridge, took out an egg and broke it into a glass. He added some Tabasco, other spices, and a shot of tequila and shook it up. He took it to Derek. “Here, drink this.”

                Derek downed it and gagged. “Dude, that tasted worse than my shoes smell.”

                “Tough it out. It’ll clear your head.” He crossed back to the kitchen. “Want some eggs and bacon?”

                Derek slowly walked to his gear bag. He pulled out clean clothes and said weakly: “I think I’ll shower up first…maybe then I can handle some food.”

                “Sounds like a plan. You know where to go?”

                “I think I can find it.” He went up the hall to the bathroom. Derek looked at himself in the mirror and recoiled. Gods, you’re ugly in the morning. His hair was a mess, and he needed a shave, the fine blonde beard making him look older, but in a good way, he mused. Maybe I should grow it out... He turned on the shower and adjusted the water flow and temperature. He got in, letting the force of the water hit his back and shoulders. As he began to relax and enjoy it, Marcus, with a huge grin, turned on the hot water in the kitchen full force. The shower ran ice cold as Derek yelped and jumped out of the flow. “Asshole!!”

                Marcus chuckled again and returned to his cooking. Fifteen minutes later, Derek came out of the bathroom wearing his pants and no shirt, drying his hair.

                “Servicing the monoshock in there?” Marcus teased.

                “What the hell are you talking about?” Derek sat down and began to wolf down his food.

                “Nothing. You didn’t tell me why you’re wearing those rank-ass shoes.”

                “They’re comfortable.”

                “They’re disgusting. With the bank you make you could at least go buy a new pair…”

                Derek dropped his fork on the plate. With rising anger: “I don’t buy anything. If they don’t give it to me, fuck ’em. I don’t promote their crap for free.”

                “Chill, dude. I’m not you’re old man, right?”

                Picks up his fork and resumes eating: “Yeah.”

                “It’s just…I don’t know, not your style…”

                Warily: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “You know what I mean. Come on, you’re the best ‘boarder on the circuit, you get all the best gear, it just doesn’t fit with your image...”

                Derek paused and stared at Marcus. He seems genuinely interested, not in a negative way like my old man. Oh, what the hell, it’s a killer story… “K, dude, here’s the scoop. You know I was sponsored by that top skate shoe company, right?”

                “Yeah, they were…”

                “They were shit, man. Things would only last a month and that’s if you were lucky. So they asked me what I thought of their shoes and I told ‘em. They weren’t too happy about it, but tough.”

                Yeah, Marcus thought, I bet I know just how you told them, too. With all the tact of a jackhammer. “Wait a second, didn’t they intro their new line in Cancun?”

                Derek snorted. “Sure did. And why not, since the taco vendors made ‘em down there.” Marcus cringed at the epithet. “It was a big deal, held at that five-star resort.” He drank down his orange juice in one gulp, burped and continued: “Yeah, it was some big party. All the skater dorks showing off on the ramps, motocrossers riding around doing wheelies and jumps, BMX’ers doing flips and jumping into the pool, all that shit. Black ties and tuxes, cocktails, what a circus. They had set up this display, a frigging ten foot high wall of the boxes filled with their latest line, big stage, lasers, and lights. Anyway, the big cheese of the company gets up on stage and starts crowing about how great his new shoes are.” Derek paused and chuckled to himself. Marcus began to remember hearing something about this whole thing from one of his motocross buds. But I thought it was a bullshit story…

                Derek got up and crossed to the fridge to get more juice. “So I decided, fuck this, I’m gonna show them what their only snowboarder thought of their shoes. I borrowed one of the mx bikes, rode right up on stage, did a burnout and jumped that Honda right through the wall of shoes!” He sat down again. “Boy were they pissed. Not only did I knock the head of the company flat on his ass, but those shoes got ruined by the chlorine and dye coming off the boxes. Not to mention they had to pay to fix that guy’s bike.”

                Marcus nodded. He seems proud of this. “I guess you showed them, right?”

                “Damn straight. And sales of their shoes dropped like that bike sinking in the pool.”

                “Now I remember hearing about this. Didn’t you kiss that CEO? And I heard you were naked.”

                Derek grins: “I was NOT naked. I had their latest shoes on. So technically, I wasn’t naked.”

                “And the CEO?”

                “The stories of the kiss are greatly exaggerated, my friend. I merely invited him to kiss my ass… he declined so I kissed his nose.”

                “You’re one sick bastard, Derek.”

                Derek downed the last bite of his food, belched again and gave Marcus his crooked smile.



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