Free Fiction Thursday – Strike Two

Good morning, everyone! Happy Thursday!

When I was a kid, I had a love/hate relationship with September. I was a bit of a television junkie, and September meant the start of the new season for my favorite television shows. That was a cause for celebration. The hate part? Well, September was also back-to-school time, and that I didn’t like so much.

September also means the start of the NFL pro-football season, a reason for hubby to celebrate, and the winding down of the season — playoffs and the World Series — for baseball fans. This week’s story features a hardcore baseball fan who also happens to be a pickpocket in Las Vegas. Only in Las Vegas, a thief has to be careful who he steals from, because strikes mean a whole different thing when you’re playing on the other side of the law.

I hope you enjoy “Strike Two.”



Annie Reed

Copyright © 2011 Annie Reed

Published by Thunder Valley Press

Cover and layout Copyright © 2012 Thunder Valley Press

Lenny Masterson knew better than to ply his trade with kids in groups, but sometimes life threw a curve ball so sweet it would have been criminal not to take a swing.

These kids, three girls barely legal enough for the round of drinks lined up on the casino bar in front of them, never spared Lenny a second glance as he brushed by behind them.  Women usually didn’t.  Most men would mind being treated like that.  They’d run out and spend a fortune on hair plugs and a personal trainer, but blending in was part of what made Lightfinger Lenny so good at what he did.

The other part?  Practice.

Lenny’d lived in Las Vegas for a couple of years now.  The place was thick with tourists and southern California transplants who walked around The Strip all googly-eyed, trying to take in the sights and sounds all at once.  Most of them never gave a second thought to the scrawny guy who bumped into them by accident, especially not if Lenny gave them the glassy-eyed stare of a lifelong alcoholic on a serious bender.  When he was working, Lenny drank only enough to put the smell of alcohol on his breath.  He could fake the look of a true souse when he needed it.  He’d spent years of his life drowning his sorrows in a bottle.  All that practice had to come in handy sometime, right?

Thanks to the school of hard knocks, Lenny had two rules he never broke.

One: No working kids in packs.

(read the rest of the story here)


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