Forced Paradise

by J. C. Compston

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ISBN 1-59431-786-0 Romance / Suspense / Thriller

Sample

Chapter 1

Hold your head up or you might miss something.

Let me introduce myself. I was given the name Wallace Douglas Armstrong. My father thought it a fitting name for a judge. He planned on his oldest son following in his footsteps. I went by Wally for several years then in the third grade my very pretty student teacher said she liked the name Doug. It stuck for several years until I started to play football. My number was forty and I was a good fullback. I was all shoulders and stout powerful short legs. The head coach said I ran like greased lighting and named me WD 40. It was reported in the paper after my best game with 176 yards and three touchdowns. Everyone in our conference called me by my new nickname. My ability to run through most lines landed me a scholarship with the Naval Academy. I made many plowed roads and soon graduated and was made an officer if not a gentleman on an aircraft carrier.

Enjoying photography with some training in high school and at the academy I became a photographer's mate. After just a couple weeks of service I received my new and longest lasting nickname. As an ensign and the most junior member of the photography department, I was assigned the first and most boring shift. San Diego was our station for the moment and there was not much to take photos of at sunrise at the dock. The only exciting thing I was doing was learning a virtually new media. Digital photography was in its infancy. We worked with analog electronic cameras at the academy for use in real time air to sea surveillance, but the first Kodak DCS-100 arrived two days previous to that infamous morning.

I had been on furlough the night before and proved my specialty. I drank every sailor and marine in the bar under the table and then slept with my first of many girls on every shore. I barely made curfew and achieved the worst hangover I remember. That hangover morning was my first opportunity to take photos with the new camera. It was also my first time out to sea. I picked the wrong time to join the Navy. We deported that very day December 12, 1990. The USS Ranger left anchorage and moved to open sea before 06:30 hours. We were on the way to the Persian Gulf. I attempted to fill the camera's small memory with my first impression of life at sea, the harbor fading away, the smell of diesel, the swirling seagulls and the galloping white horses. Did I say the swirling seagulls? They were the last thing I saw before falling overboard new digital and all. The only thing that saved me and the expensive camera was the laundry net. Net became my new name.

Up to this day people think that my name came from my ability to net evidence. A well planted misdirection by Bobby Stevens about the only buddy I have left. He is a news reporter. I don't get to see him much anymore since he is married to my ex-wife's best friend. He did make sure my new private detective agency became a household word after I solved the Book Mark Murder case last week. The first six months after I left my wife Rachel all I did was drink. The old house I rent is within walking distance to three cheap bars. Bobby and I really lost contact.

I finally considered the future. As a drunken Cincinnati police photographer I disrupted several crime scenes. Although Herb Taylor my captain was a very forgiving man he asked me to quit after my last investigation. He remarked that I should go private and take pictures of cheating spouses. So about eight months ago I received my license. Until I was hired by Penelope Hauser, socialite ex-wife of Eric Hauser a famous mystery writer, business was very slow. I only had two cases before that and found out that Penelope chose me because she heard I was a screw-up. She was trying to frame Hauser and receive better alimony. I goofed up and got him arrested then accidentally stumbled over the real truth.

Being a man of honesty and integrity; I always tell only the truth. I have been many places and done many things. I know a bunch about everything but don't profess to be an expert on anything, except for getting drunk and screwing up.

Today my special insight tells me that my luck is going to change, I hope. I do have that itchy feeling I get sometimes. Too bad I never can use it to predict anything; it only makes me aware beyond my normal dull senses. My eyes are heavy and my head is throbbing. Too much Scotch last night and the hostess from the restaurant took her toll on my aging stamina. I came in at my normal ten or eleven o'clock starting hour. After two hours of working a boring crossword. I woke up with my face glued with drool to the puzzle and my coffee cup spilled on the rest of my desk. There was the sound of high heels in the reception area of my new office. I hadn't unpacked anything but my TV, computer and liquor cabinet, well three half empty bottles in a box. The frosted glass paneled door that I insisted my new landlord install swung open with a determined thrust.

"Mr. Armstrong your new assistant let me in. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"What, who, I mean, my what?"

"Mr. Armstrong, I am Celeste Fields, I am here in answer to your advertisement."

This must be the change I longed for. I stood and then stumbled around my pretentious huge antique walnut desk. The afternoon sun radiated through the frosted window and haloed the vision before me. I have to still be dreaming. My ad for an office manager/assistant just ran this morning for the first time. No one reads the want ads this soon. She was too perfect she had to be a figment of my imagination. Her slight southern accent is really appealing. Her long soft fawn brown hair seemed to wisp in the wind as if there was a breeze in this dank office. My olfactory receptors discerned Sweet Honesty perfume, my absolute favorite. It stepped closer and aside from the light to look at her face. Her eyes were dark yet colorful like the sea at dusk. They are wide, large, bright, intelligent yet playful and sexy to boot. I reached out my hand after wiping it on my blue jeans. She was taller than me with her high heels. I guessed she was easily 5'11" barefoot. Her hand felt soft and feminine yet her handshake was strong, full of emotion and personality. Her nose is perfectly straight and long enough to show character. Wide cheekbones pulled her luscious mauve lips into a perfect smile that revealed her Caribbean white sand colored teeth. Her overall sensuality caused me to smile like an orgasmic idiot. She had to be a girl my mind created, too perfect to waltz into my office much less my life. I came real close to pinching myself.

"Here's my resume, I have some work experience from right after college, but have been writing since 2000. Maybe you have heard of my work, The Beat, On Patrol, Off the Clock and my latestJudge's Chambers."

"It is you; I saw you on Letterman, Leno and set my DVR to record you on Craig Ferguson's." Then I realize my face blushed after giving her the knowledge that I lusted after this literary goddess. "Why would you want I job with me?"

"For a new story, my fiancé is a cop and my daddy is a judge. He introduced me to your father. Cool old guy, he said you are in need of an assistant."

Dad finally came through, but this vision was almost married. "So you got those stories from real life?"

"Sort of, my imagination played a large part."