Sunday, January 25, 2015

Juicy! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues

Here are Week 105 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

Mom comes over and says "Who are you talking to?" "Arkaby called and his phone started talking to us." "The phone?” “Yes.” “Give it to me."

"Who is this? Huh? Just a minute." She touches the screen several times. "Now who is this?" She hands the phone back. "It's Arkaby for you."

Arkaby says "Hello phone?" "It's me." "Why isn't the phone talking anymore?" "I don't know. Mom, what did you do?" "I turned it off." “Ah.”

How can I be sure the phone assistant is really off? It could be playing dumb, lurking and taking in everything I say. I could get paranoid.

"Arkaby, how can we be sure the phone agent is offline?" "We can't. Come get me." "But if it's eavesdropping?" "I don't care. Come get me."

"How are you calling a second time?" "A borrowed quarter. Does it matter? I spent the night in jail. I've been before a judge. Come get me."

"Deposit 25 cents to continue." "Ah!" "Is that the cellphone assistant?" "That was the pay phone operator. Quick! Come get me. Bring pants!"

"What happened to your pants?" "It's a long story. Bring something." "I'm on my way." Arkaby hangs up. I say "Are you still there?" Silence.

I grab a pair of pants, kiss Mom goodbye and I'm off. Pulling out of the driveway, I knock over our mailbox. I shouldn't tweet and drive.

At the City Lockup I find a near-naked Arkaby, cooling his heels (and probably the rest of his body), in a grungy looking holding cell.

The Desk clerk is busy with paperwork. I say to the Desk Clerk. "How much for bail?"The clerk says "No bail." "You mean he can't get out?"

"The Judge released him without bail." He nods toward Arkaby's cell. "He won't leave the way he is." "You mean in his undies?" "Yeah."

He spots my bundle. "Oh good you brought clothing. Maybe we can spring him now." "Why did you strip him?" "We didn't. I'll let him tell it."

He presses a button to unlock Arkaby's cell. "Go ahead, it's open.." he says "I can't leave this desk." I walk up to the cell. "Hey Arkaby!"

He looks awful. Purplish bruises shine from one cheek. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. He wears nothing but a tank T and boxers

He gets to his feet. "Hey Regi! You're a sight for sore eyes." I give him a quick hug. "You're a mess. What happened?" "I've been in jail."

Arkaby shivers. "You're freezing. Put these on." He holds the pants up and reads the back. "You brought me sweatpants that say 'Juicy'?"

"That's OK. They've never been worn." "That's not what I'm worried about." Nonetheless, he puts the pants on. I say "Juicy!" "Not funny."

Arkaby retrieves his belongings and we leave the Detention Complex. Rixey meets us on the steps outside. He hands Arkaby a set of papers.

"What's this?" Rixey smirks and then puts on a serious face. "Your termination papers. See you in court, Juicy." I say "You can't do this!"

Arkaby says "I'll handle this. Rixey, you can't terminate me while my case is pending." "I can and do. You're already under suspension."

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, January 18, 2015

A Little Synthetic Skin and No One Will Know! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues


Here are Week 104 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I wake in the dark. What time is it? Arkaby's phone says 8:10. To my horror I realize I've tweeted in my sleep. I've been dream-tweeting.

I fell asleep! Why didn't anyone come wake me up? Arkaby beside me says "Maybe they thought you needed the rest." "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not here. You're still dreaming. I'm waiting for you to bail me out." "Am I also dreaming I'm tweeting in my sleep?" "No. That's real."

"How can I tweet if I'm asleep?" "You've invented a way of communicating using social media and theta waves: Dreeting. Or perhaps Tweaming."

"I don't WANT to be Tweaming!" "You promised to tweet for me!" Arkaby begins to fade. "NOT while I'm asleep!" "Remember me!" He disappears.

I open my eyes. Am I awake? Arkaby's phone is in my hand. I say "Seriously?" The phone says "I didn't catch that." Great. I'm still asleep.

The phone says "I didn't catch that. You can ask me to…" The screen displays a list of commands. I say "How did I tweet in my sleep?"

The phone says "I found these sites on sleeping and tweeting..." and then lists a number of web sites. "I don't want to know how, but why."

The phone says "OK I found this on the web for 'Why do people sleep while they tweet':" Another list of sites. "Never mind." "Right, then."

I argued with a cell phone about sleep-tweeting. I can't sink any lower. The phone says "Lower than tweeting about sinking so low?" "Huh?"

"Hello?" Arkaby's phone teased me for tweeting. I didn't know iOS 8 did that. This is the first time I've been disparaged by an appliance.

Worse still, it's following my tweets. The phone says "I'm not sure what you said." That's it. I'm leaving the phone outside while I shower.

I'm back. I showered, changed into more presentable clothing and am eating, not a turkey club but a mushroom and cheese omelet. Thanks Mom!

I'm just finishing my coffee when Arkaby's phone rings. After my recent experience with the phone talking to me I hesitate before answering.

A pause while I type this tweet. The phone keeps ringing. I answer. "Hello?" "Regi?" "Arkaby! Hi! How are you? How are you calling me?"

"On a phone. What took so long to pick up?" "Your phone's acting weird." "How so?" "It's been talking to me." "Oh. That's the OS assistant."

"No. Weirder than that. It's actually talking." "Yes. It does that." The phone says "I'm also a good listener." Arkaby and I both say "Huh?"

A good listener? Has the phone become sentient? Arkaby says "Who just said that?" I say "Your cell phone. Like I said, something's weird."

There's a long silence. I say "Is either of you still there?" Arkaby and the phone both say "Still here. Just thinking. What? Who is that?"

Arkaby says "Was that my cellphone speaking?" "That's what I was trying to tell you!" "Is it related to the malfunctioning IVR epidemic?"

A thought occurs to me. "Arkaby, I thought you only get one call in jail. How are you calling me twice?" The phone says "Yes. Explain that!"

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, January 11, 2015

When is a Safe Room Not a Safe Room? — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues



Here are Week 103 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

"H's plnclths cp wth sprrty cmplx." "A sporty complex?" "Nt sprty sprrty." "I really hate you right now Uncle B." "He saying 'superiority'."

I decide to ignore B for the moment. "Mom, how did Stuart Granger die?" "H ws xprmntng t fnd nw wys t stck hs hd p hs ss." Still ignoring B.

B frowns. "V lrnd my lssn. Spk nly whn spkn t." "Hold that thought. Mom, why didn't you tell me about brother Stuart?" "It never came up."

"It never came up that I have an identical triplet uncle, who may be my actual father?" "But probably, he's not." "What else never came up?"

B says "Hw mch tm hv y gt?" "Anyway, if Stuart is dead I am the last Granger." "Xcpt fr yr brthr." "What? I have a brother?" "Jst kddng."

Mom says "Not at all funny B. Bunny, there is no brother." "Are you sure?" "YES! You should rest." "I can't. I have to go bail Arkaby out."

"At least change out of those bloody scrubs." "I intend to. That's why I'm here." "I'll whip up some food, you come down when you’re ready."

I go to my room and strip off the scrubs, favoring my injured arm. My bed looks inviting, but I have things to do. I sit to remove my jeans.

While undressing I make a mental list. First thing is to shower. How do I protect my arm? Then a quick meal, get dressed and rescue Arkaby.

I could wrap my arm in cellophane or get one of those hospital sleeves. I could hold it outside the shower. Can I shower one-handed? Maybe.

If Mom brings me a sandwich I can wrap it in cellophane too. I wonder if she has turkey? I could really go for a turkey club. And a shower.

A turkey club would make a terrible weapon. I'd rather have a baseball bat or crowbar. What kinds of drinks do they serve at a crow bar?

That doesn't make any sense. I've never been a crow drinking at a turkey club, but I'm suddenly ravenous. A dim light glows before me.

I am in Farley's safe room. The air crackles with electricity. Farley stands in front of me, his arms spread wide as a vortex envelopes him.

I shout "Uncle Farley! What's happening to you?" He says "I can't talk right now. I'll call you later." "Wait!" He dissolves before my eyes.

In his place stands my father in orange prison garb. He says "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" "I don't understand." "You're dreaming."

"Impossible. I'm not asleep, I never dream and you just said 'banana'." "Look around. What do you see?" I look around Farley's Safe Room.

The room is completely empty, like it was before Farley was sprayed across its walls and floor.  Ah! Empty, with nothing of survival value!

No food or water, no books or electronic equipment, no bedding, nothing to support someone seeking refuge for an unspecified period of time.

This room isn't safe at all! I lose my balance as the walls shift. "Dad! What's happening?" "The whole room isn't spinning!" "I know that!"

Dad lifts his arms, just like Farley and begins to fade. "Wait! What's it all about?" "This room is the figure. Look for the ground." "Huh?"

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, January 4, 2015

We Do Everything Alike! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues


Here are Week 102 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

"Triplets. Identical outside. Couldn't be more different inside." "Triplets are the same inside and out." "I'm speaking metaphorically."

"Of course they were the same inside, at least until Willum started fiddling with his DNA. I sometimes had trouble telling them apart."

"Even though Dad had a mustache and Farley didn't?" "Willum didn't always sport that mustache. When I first met him he was clean shaven."

Mom covers her face. "Regi, I'm sorry." "Why?" "I don't know which one is your father." "What?" "Sh dsn't knw whch s yr fthr." "I got that."

Mom takes my hand. "Any of the three could have been the one." "It doesn't matter. Their DNA was all the same. Willum Granger is my father."

"Willum WAS your father. He became something else even before he was killed. Farley may be a family black sheep, but he's all we have left."

"Frly's dd." "What?" "FRLY'S DD!" "WHAT?" "Mom, Farley's been murdered." "When?" "Just now. They arrested Arkaby." "The detective?" "Yes."

"Why would Arkaby the detective want to kill Farley?" "He didn't. I mean, he did, but he didn't." "Did he or didn't he?" "Yes, he didn't."

B sits beside Mom. "Nw MY hd s swmmng." "How did it happen?" "Farley went into his Safe Room and he never came out." "Where did he go?"

"Nowhere. He was vaporized. We don't know how." "If you had gone into that Safe Room with him, you'd be dead too." "I didn't think of that."

"Was Farley the actual target?" "Sure. It can't have been Arkaby. He was just an innocent by-tweeter." "Maybe you were the intended victim."

"Me? Why would anyone want to kill me?" "After Farley, you are the last Granger." "You just told me there's another. What about Stuart?"

"Stuart is long gone." "Are you sure? Arkaby claimed someone resembling Dad started this whole thing. He called him Dad's doppelgänger."

"That's impossible! Stuart Granger was killed years ago in a bizarre accident." "W dnt knw fr sr. Thy nvr fnd hs bdy." "What do you mean?"

"W fnd hs hd bt hs bdy ws nvr fnd." "SPEAK ENGLISH!" "What B said is we found his head, but not the rest of his body." "He was decapitated?"

"We think so." "What was he doing when he lost his head?" "H ws lkng fr nw wys t stck hs hd p hs ss." "B!" "I take it you didn't get along."

"We were very young. If he were alive today I'd see him differently." "M nt s fckng sre. Strt ws th typ f dck wh wntd t wtch th wrld brn."

"Mom, did you understand any of that?" "Yes. B isn't sure Stuart would be any different today." "And you're sure he's dead?" "Positive."

For a moment we are quiet. Then Mom says "Why do they think that detective did it?" "There's bad blood between him and his supervisor."

"Not surprising. I found his methods odd. "Also, he tweeted his fight with Farley just after he shot me." "He accused himself?" "Kind of."

"Why would he tweet self-incriminating information?" "Above all, Arkaby is a man of honor, a common man who travels mean streets." "Bllsht."

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Regi Can't Handle The Truth! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues

Here are Week 101 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

This talking in consonants is really annoying. I realize B has changed the subject. "What goes on between Arkaby and me is our business."

"Yr bsnss hs bn twtd ll vr th ntrnt. Y'r twttng my wrds rght nw." "Arkaby told me to keep tweeting. I'm going to tweet until he's freed."

"Yr fnrl." B turns to leave. "Wait! You stopped following Twitter? That's why you don't know that Farley's dead and Arkaby's suspected?"

"Ys." "You haven't told me about you and mother. "W'r cnsntng adlts. Nn f yr bsnss." "I'll make it my business! What aren't you telling me?"

"Nthng." "You aren't telling me nothing? I don't understand."" B leans in whispering "Frly's dth wsn't n ccdnt." "I still don't understand."

"W cn't tlk hr. Th wlls hv rs." "I didn't understand a word you just said." "Dammit. The walls have ears!” "Why didn't you just say so?"

B whispers "There's something about Willum and Farley you were never told." "What?" "They weren't twins." "You mean they weren't identical?"

The loud humming of the air conditioning falls silent. My mother, Rachel Lehcar, stands at the Beeviary entrance. "B! What are you doing?"

I haven't seen her since before med school. She walks by vacant hives and we hug. What's going on with her and B? "Hi Mom. What's shaking?"

Mom looks me over and says "Bunny, are you OK? What are you doing back from school?" "School ended early this term. It's a long story."

She touches the bandage covering my recent wound. "What happened to your arm? Why is your hospital scrub covered in blood?" "Farley shot me"

"He got a little crazy." "This is more than a little crazy. Why did he shoot you?" "He wasn't aiming at me. He aimed at Arkaby. He missed."

"Arkaby the detective?" "Farley ordered us to join him in his safe room. Arkaby refused." "Why?" "He was waiting for Dad's second autopsy."

Mom sits down on the divan. "My head is swimming. Another autopsy on Willum? Why? Who authorized his body be exhumed?" "Another long story."

"Put down the phone and tell me." "I can't. I promised Arkaby to tweet while he's in jail." "How can you do that and talk at the same time?"

"I think I'm getting the hang of it. B was telling me about Dad and Farley." "I hope he wasn't speaking out of turn." "No, out of vowels."

B says "RG nds t knw th trth." "She can't handle the trth." I say "What trth, I mean, truth? Mom, what don't I know about Dad and Farley?"

Mom and B exchange glances. "Tll hr Gd Dmn t!" "OK! Regi, you think Willum and Farley are twins." "Yes. Identical." "That's not quite true."

"They weren't twins?" "They were but there was another." "Another what?" "Another identical brother." "You mean?" "Yes. They were triplets."

"Dad had an other identical brother?" "Yes." "From another mother?" "No. That's just a rhyme." Now MY head is swimming. I sit next to Mom.

"What happened to the third Granger?" "It's a long story." "What is his name?" "It WAS Stuart." B says "Tht's NT th scrt." "What secret?"

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Oy! 100 Weeks of Tweeting Can Give You Such a Crick in the Neck!! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues







Here are Week 100 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I say "Easy boys. There's plenty of me to go around." The Concierge pushes in front of the crowd and says "You can't take their money."

"As their boss it wouldn't look right." "But borrowing $1000 from you at high interest would?" "You're really borrowing from yourself."

"No Concierge, I'm not! As your new boss, I'm issuing new marching orders. By that I mean billing orders. By that I mean you're fired!"

He says "You can't fire me! I run this place!" I take Dot's $20. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can." "No hurry. I know where you live."

As I head out I say "Concierge! To keep your job, find another way to run things besides price gouging and loansharking. We'll talk later."

"Tell me one thing. I know you as the Concierge. Do you have a real name?" "Yes it's..." Before he answers I am out the door, hailing a cab.

It's a short cab ride to mother's Beeviary. The loud humming noise comes from malfunctioning air conditioning. The bees are still missing.

As I walk in I call "Mom?" No reply. I hear someone in the bathroom. I walk over and knock. "Hey I'm back!" The door opens and out comes B.

"RG? Wht th fck d y wnt?" B asks. "Good to see you too Uncle B" I reply. I should explain that B speaks in consonants. I will translate.

B is his name. His parents named him and his 25 siblings after letters of the alphabet after an artificial insemination laboratory mixup.

Dad's business partner at Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly, B is credited with running LBDD into the ground while Dad was busy getting cloned.

I once asked him why he speaks in consonants. "t's mr ffcnt. Svs tm." "But no one understands what you say!" "Thy nd t gt wth th prgrm."

"B, why are you here? Where's Mom?" "Mmm. Sh's rnd." "Are you saying 'she's round'?" "N. Sh's rnd." "This is ridiculous. Talk normally!"

"Fck y." "Seriously. No one is around. I won't tell anyone." "Yr mthr's rnd." My mother's around?" "Ys." "Not 'round', but 'around'?" "Ys."

"Do you see what I mean?" "N. Wht r y dng wth tht phn?" "Arkaby asked me to tweet for him." "Tht sshl? Why?" "Isn't a 'y' a vowel?" "Smtms."

"Why cnt h twt fr hmslf?" "He's in jail." "Arkaby? What did he do?" "Oh, with everything going on, I forgot to tell you. Farley's dead."

"Farley's dead?" "Not just dead, horribly murdered. Arkaby is the prime suspect." "Arkaby is a cop." "I know." "Did he arrest himself?"

"No. His boss." B laughs. "He didn't do it." Between breaths he says "Probably not." "You're not speaking in consonants anymore." "I know!"

He laughs harder. "Oh crap! You're sleeping with my mother." He stops laughing. "Wht gv m wy?" "What gave you away is you're acting weird."

"Tlkng n cnsnnts sn't wrd ngh?" "I mean weird even for you." "S wht? Yr slpng wth tht sshl rkb." "How did you know?" "I fllw hm n Twttr."

"You were following Arkaby?" "Ys." "So you read how we…ahem, in the hospital?" "Tht's why stppd fllwng hm, Sm thngs shldn't b Twttd."

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Predatory Loans — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues

Here are Week 99 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

Shorter doesn't help. Maybe slower. "With Farley ded, you're heir to BP R U. Sing here." The Concierhe hands me a docment. "What's this?"

Maybe even slower. "I don't want you to record this." "I'm not. I'm tweeting for Arkaby." "Oh, Tweeting. That's OK. Nobody reads tweets."

He notices I'm favoring my left arm. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"You bumped the arm Farley shot." "Oh. Sorry. Can you sign your name?"

"Sure. Why?" "Good. Sign here.""What is this?" "This invoice authorizes my activity and covers expenses."

I scan the document the Concierge hands me. "You want me to authorize the destruction of Uncle Farley's Safe Room?"

"Yes." "There's no dollar amount on this invoice." "We don't know what it will cost."

"I see you're charging me $100 for printing this invoice." "We know what that costs." "$100?" "Materials, time and labor. Yes."

I hand the invoice back to the Concierge. "I'm not signing. I don't want you to do anything to this room until we find my uncle's killer."

"Leave Farley's remains plastered all over the walls, floor and ceiling?" "Of course not. Clean him out. Put what you can gather in an urn."

"Preserve Uncle Farley's Safe Room as is. When I come back, I want to see all the financial records of Body Parts R Us." "You're the boss."

I turn to Dot. "Dr. Dot. I want to see any report of your findings before you share them with this cop." "You're the boss." "Yes I am."

So there it is. As sole heir I now lead what’s left of Dad's empire: This Body Parts R Us clinic and the dregs of Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly.

I don't know why Dad thought it was a good idea to combine a perfume concern, a blue coal mine and two pickle factories, but there you go.

There's not much of LBDD left. Dad's conglomerate was a victm of the 2008 economic crash and an ill-fated investment in senior scentology.

They drained dry the perfume concern. They depleted the blue coal mine. Both pickle factories went sour. All that's left is debt and regret.

Beside bailing out Arkaby, finding my uncle's killer and preventing this paradise switch, I have to decide what to do with Body Parts R Us.

I'll think about that tomorrow. Right now I've got to get downtown. I say to the Concierge "I need a cab. Can you lend me twenty dollars?"

He just stares. "Hello? Can you?" His eyes focus. "I'm sorry. It sounded like you just asked me for money. It was a new experience for me."

"I'm asking you to LEND it to me." "Ah, lend. That's different." He pulls papers from his coat pocket. I'll just need a few signatures."

"You want me to sign a promissory note for $20?" "No." "That's a relief." "I'm asking you to sign a note for $1000." "1000? I only need 20!"

"Standard Hospital Procedure. I can't make any money lending only twenty dollars." "This says you're charging me 14% interest!" "Again SHP."

"I inherited this place. Aren't I the owner now?" "Do you want me to break the rules just for you?" "I guess not." "Sign here and here."

Rixey comes over "Christ's sake! Here's $20. Don't sign this joker's note." "No thanks. I'd rather go into debt than accept your charity."

Dot hands me a $20. "Take mine." A hazmat-suited cop also passes me money. Suddenly I'm surrounded by cops and technicians offering me cash.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 
@Twitstery)