Annals of a Dangerous Handyman

Annals of a Dangerous Handyman By Geoff Geauterre

ANNALS OF A DANGEROUS HANDYMAN portrays the tale of Henri Chabron, Canadian, American, commercial mercenary for hire, in the business of personal salvage. The fast-moving story story tells how a child, becoming a man in a world of lies, deceit and betrayal, is still able to preserve his soul.

Son of a woman driven to the brink of madness, by a family who disowned her, he fights to contend with poverty, ignorance and hard labor, showing that bitter wit and courage may be just the right tools to shield one from disaster.

Want to glimpse the face of the macabre, where truths are too dangerous to know, and too important to ignore? This work will teach lessons that will grip you.

ISBN 1-59431-517-5 Mainstream/ Mystery

Cover Art Shelley Rodgerson

Also available in RTF or HTML format.



Chapter 1

Hands that could kill straightened my collar, adjusted my tie, felt along the outline of the shoulders and finally brushed off whatever trace of lint there might have been.

I watched Branham in the dressing mirror, my eyes following those hands closely, noting the care he took, and then when he was finished, he lifted his eyebrows and I nodded with satisfaction. As always, Branham was perfect.

“Will you require anything else, sir?”

“No. This should be sufficient. Thank you for helping me tidy up. I didn’t have much preparation time.”

“A pleasure, sir.”

He turned for the door, and was about to exit, when he paused to look back.

“Hmm?”

“If I’m not being impertinent…?”

Never before had Section Twelve’s houseman showed curiosity, which was a valuable trait for such a position, but this time, this time it was different. He had to know.

“Go on.”

He grimaced. “It’s this business, sir. With you, sir.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You see, try as the others and I have, it’s difficult for us to…” he struggled with it. “To associate you with all this. To us, you’ve always been an enigma, if you take my meaning.”

“I think I understand.”

“We were astonished when we heard,” he added softly.

“That I’d been summoned for this, you mean?”

A grudging nod. “Yes, sir. If you will. No disrespect, but how did you do it? It wasn’t too long ago when, er,” he coughed, “when there were bids to see which one got you first.”

“Oh, don’t look so contrite, you old pirate. I know quite well you were among that lot. You hardly fit the role of an angel in mourning.”

He seemed about to protest, but then shrugged.

“What you and the rest of that rascally crowd you run around with want to know is how I survived everything they could throw at me, including the kitchen sink. Is that it?”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “It has been a source of wonder.”

“I can see the ladies downstairs, right this minute, wringing their hands with greed and disappointment.”

“Well,” he said reluctantly, “I would not go that far. However, a good deal of money was put on your demise…and now…” He seemed at a loss.

“Which did you bet on? Prey or predator?”

He sighed. “I am afraid sir, I chose predator. I should have chosen prey, considering you were never anyone’s prey.”

The wardrobe doors closed and I went over to the armchair and sat back, looking at him, wondering if I should be candid, keeping in mind that monitors could be looking at us this very instant.

“You’re right, of course. I was never anyone’s prey. Anyone who thought I was a babe in the woods were in for a nasty surprise.”

“Yes, so we’ve come to think.”

“I’m curious. What were the odds?”

He cleared his throat. “Nine to three against.”

“How much did you bet?”

“Ah, yes, well I am dreadfully sorry, but it was a hundred.”

“Rogue. You thought you’d be rolling in dough.”

“Yes, sir. I am afraid I did presume too much.”

“Who bet for me?”

He grimaced. “The kitchen staff.”

“Never undermine those who deal in food, Branham. They can smell out if something is good or not.”