Summary:
Nick & Carter Holiday #23
Monday, December 26, 1994
It's Boxing Day and Nick and Carter are flying on their customized 767, The Lumberjack 3, from Sydney to Pago Pago.
And, actually, when they get to their destination, it will be Sunday, the 25th of December—Christmas Day—again.
It's that whole International Date Line thing, doncha know.
Anyway, on this second Christmas Day of 1994, they're going to finally fulfill the dying wish of an old friend who once got them out of a big jam.
And, along the way, they'll make some new friends, uncover a hidden secret or two, and finally solve a thorny problem they've had for the last few years.
Join them, won't you, for all the fun of not just one Christmas Day, but two!
Boxing Day, 1981
Summary:Nick & Carter Holiday #24
Saturday, December 26, 1981
It's Boxing Day and Nick and Carter are renting a sprawling 19th century house in the heart of Auckland, in New Zealand.
The sun has barely risen when Nick sits up in bed after hearing the sound of a woman screaming.
While Carter rolls over to go back to sleep, Nick investigates the house next door where he finds a corpse who's been stabbed in the back.
Once the police detective arrives, he asks Nick and Carter for their help.
What they turn up is an unexpected connection to a sad and sorrowful time in their past...
In the end, however, some old ghosts finally find peace and so do Nick and Carter.
New Year's Day, 1979
Summary:Nick & Carter Holiday #1
Monday, January 1, 1979
Happy New Year!
Nick and Carter are in Dallas for the opening of the newest of their Hopkins Hotels!
But Mother Nature is on a bit of a rampage and has left the Metroplex covered in sleet and ice and it's awfully cold.
But inside their new club - The Fourteenth Floor - the scene is sizzling!
Atop the Hopkins Dallas, close to five hundred gay men have paid a hundred bucks each (all for charity) to be at the biggest party in town!
The clock strikes midnight and Nick and Carter are dancing to Guy Lombardo just like they did when they first met.
But then one of the bartenders is seen running into the back in a frenzy.
And the General Manager of the hotel is found semi-conscious, bleeding from the head.
While Carter boogies on down with a circle of admiring fans on the dance floor, Nick is hard at work.
He's trying to discover what secrets might conspire to close the Hopkins Dallas and The Fourteenth Floor before either have a chance to fly!
Christmas Day, 1994
Original Review December 2022:
Another holiday in the lives of Nick and Carter. Seeing the pair on Christmas, or rather two Christmases, is a pure delight. Emotionally charged due to personal nostalgia on the men's part as they prepare to say a final goodbye to an old acquaintance of yesteryear. Yet another snippet in the couples' journey making me want to get to know their entire journey even more. There is familiar names and new ones, through each we get to explore Nick and Carter's relationship even deeper. There is no doubt the pair love each other and have done so for decades. I love seeing them as mature adults reminding us that life, love, and learning never ends. One of these days I will go back and read about Nick and Carter's full journey but until then I continue to enjoy these beautiful holiday snippets.
Boxing Day, 1981
Original Review December 2022:
I have only read about half of the Nick and Carter Holiday shorts but of those I read, Boxing Day, 1981 is definitely the more mystery-centric and it definitely is one of my favorites(though I think I say that with nearly each one😉). As it's a mystery I won't say too much of the plot, being all anti-spoiler as I am, trust me when I say if you enjoy Nick and Carter then this is a must and if you are new to this universe, well despite it being the last in this series of shorts there is no real set timeline as it jumps all over the place(and that's not a bad thing with these guys) then Boxing Day is a perfect place to hook you in.
A little note of the overall series(so far):
I'll admit, I've scrolled past many of these entries on Amazon when they popped up on "recommended for you" over the past couple of years but in 2022 I was trying to find more stories that featured "forgotten holidays". Now by "forgotten" I don't mean holidays we don't honor in our lives but holidays that get glossed over or completely ignored too often in fiction. Honestly, Nick and Carter Holidays were a perfect fit for what I was looking for. Time didn't always let me read each one so in 2023 I'm hoping to enjoy the ones I missed and if Time is real good to me I'm hoping to discover the boys' complete journey(as much as I'm really hoping to explore their past I have my doubts Time has the same plan for me but one day I will make Time give me the opportunity).
I'm not going to say this series of shorts gives us a chance to see how the men got to experience the normalities of the holidays as the rest of us do because frankly, Nick and Carter are not your typical humans. Life seems to have a way of giving them experiences that most of us don't even dream of but through these snippets of holiday life we do get to see how much they love each other, how much their friends mean to them, and how much they love life in general. Be it humorous, serious, mysterious, or a number of other -ouses, I was never anything but completely entertained.
New Year's Day, 1979
Original Review December 2022:
New Year's Day, 1979 is a wonderful blend of mystery, humor, and heart that seems to follow Nick and Carter everywhere they go. This was the fist in the author's Nick & Carter Holiday series of short stories but as I was late to the party it wasn't my first, neither is it necessary to read in order as they jump around throughout the men's journey. As I have said in the others that I have read, I am not familiar with Nick and Carter's full journey, I hope to discover them in 2023 but it too is not necessary to have read prior these shorts. Would some of the names and places mean more? Maybe but not a must.
Since there is a bit of mystery involved here I don't want to spoil anything so I won't touch on the plot other than to say if this is how Nick tackles all his situations I look even more to reading his case history. Carter may not be involved as much here but it's obvious his presence is never far from Nick's mind. Hard to imagine a mystery so short being this good, could it be strictly down the talent of the author or the characters involved? In my opinion it's both but whichever it is, there is no doubt that these characters mean a lot to the author and in that we are given very entertaining gems.
Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield
Prologue
Good Morning Australia
Channel 10 Sydney
Monday, December 26, 1994
Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Good morning, Australia! I'm Kerri-Anne Kennerley, sitting in this morning for our Bert Newton who's on holiday, enjoying the spectacular Gold Coast on this Boxing Day.
We begin today's show with a special interview. Nicholas Williams, the San Francisco-based owner of the Hopkins Hotel in Sydney, has spent the last ten days touring the country. This is his first time back to Australia since 1955 and our very own Charlene Thomas met with Mr. Williams at the Hopkins Bar to speak with him and get to know more about the very unusual owner of one of Sydney's most unusual hotels.
(cut from studio to a restaurant interior)
Charlene Thomas (holding a glass of red wine while seated at a bar): And what is this?
Nicholas Williams (seated next to her holding a matching glass): This is a 1990 Grant Burge Shiraz, a wine we both really enjoy. This is a grape that some of our winemakers in California are just now starting to cultivate. There, like in France, we call it Syrah. (he takes a sip).
Charlene Thomas: Yes, I've heard that. Are you a California wine connoisseur?
Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Not at all. I'm more of a beer drinker, myself. But, here at the Hopkins, we like to feature Australian food and wine. We try to do that in all our hotels.
Charlene Thomas: How many Hopkins hotels are there, now?
Nicholas Williams: This hotel was our fortieth when it opened in 1990. We're now up to forty-five. Our newest just opened in Singapore, which is where we were before we came here.
Charlene Thomas: And how do you like being back in Australia?
Nicholas Williams (smiling): We're glad to be back. It's been almost forty-six years since we skipped the country on an old Pan Am clipper that a friend of ours owned.
Charlene Thomas (nodding seriously): Now, from what I've been told, you were fleeing arrest.
Nicholas Williams: Yes. But the laws have changed—happily—and now we're back and happy to be here. Everyone has been very welcoming.
Charlene Thomas: Is it true that you spend your Christmas and New Year in the southern hemisphere every year?
Nicholas Williams: Yes. The first time we did that was in 1953 in Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil. Growing up in chilly San Francisco, it was nice to spend Christmas somewhere nice and warm. We've been to Brazil, Chile, New Zealand, and now we're here, in Sydney. (lifts his glass as if to toast).
Charlene Thomas: I'll drink to that. Cheers. (the two clink glasses)
Nicholas Williams: Cheers.
(cut from bar to a balcony)
Charlene Thomas: Now, this is a view that's worth waking up for. From here, I can see the harbor, along with the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. I'm standing just outside the luxurious Royal Australian Suite, on the 29th floor of the Hopkins. Let's have a quick look at the rest of what this sumptuous accommodation offers.
(montage tour of rooms)
Nicholas Williams (standing next to a second man who's seated on a couch): What do you think?
Charlene Thomas: I think I'd enjoy calling this home for a couple of weeks.
Nicholas Williams: We really like what our décor team did here. The Hopkins idea is modern style with relaxing comfort. And I think this suite, along with every room in the hotel, reflects that.
Charlene Thomas: I agree.
(brief slideshow of other guest rooms, cutting to table by window)
Charlene Thomas: You've been quite busy in during the ten days you've been here.
Nicholas Williams: We've enjoyed every day of it.
Charlene Thomas: Let's see. (looks at notes). You've met with the Lord Mayor of the City of Sydney, Frank Sartor. You invited Prime Minister Paul Keating for dinner, here, at this very table. And I hear he was just as late for dinner as he is for cabinet meetings.
Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Yes, but his wife, Anitta, kept us entertained.
Charlene Thomas: You've seen an opera while in town.
Carter Jones: We were lucky enough to be invited to sit in on rehearsals for Tresno, which opens early next month.
Charlene Thomas: I understand you visited Alice Springs and climbed Ayers Rock, is that right?
Carter Jones (smiling): Yes.
Nicholas Williams: He did. Not me.
Charlene Thomas: I also heard you were the guests of honor at the Imperial Hotel on Erskineville Road last night.
Nicholas Williams: Yes.
Carter Jones: They treated us like royalty there. We had a great time.
Charlene Thomas: Now that we're almost there, what are your holiday plans?
Nicholas Williams: We'll be spending Christmas Day with some old friends, just north of Bondi Beach.
Charlene Thomas: That's where you stayed when you were last here, correct?
Nicholas Williams: Yes. That was during a big storm that nearly washed me right over the cliff and into the ocean.
Charlene Thomas: Goodness!
Nicholas Williams: Then, on the 26th—
Carter Jones: Boxing Day.
Nicholas Williams (nodding): We're leaving for Fiji and then on to Hawaii before heading home to San Francisco.
Charlene Thomas: Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the start of the new year.
(cut back to studio)
Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Thank you, Charlene. Sounds like you had quite the interesting time at the Hopkins Sydney. In a moment, Sally Browne stops by to talk about her take on this summer's must-wear fashions for the beach as well as around town. You won't want to miss what she's got to say. But first—
(video ends)
Boxing Day, 1981
Tyne House
77 Tyne Hill Road
Tyne Garden Estates
Auckland
New Zealand
Saturday, December 26, 1981
6:12 a.m. NZDT
I sat up in bed, startled.
"What is it?" asked Carter as he patted me on the back.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" mumbled Carter.
"I thought I heard a woman scream."
"Maybe you were dreaming." Pulling on my arm, he added, "Go back to sleep, son."
I sat there a moment, listening to all the birds chattering, astonished at how different they sounded from the birds at home.
"Sleep," mumbled Carter.
I stretched out and waited for the sound of his light snoring. That was the sign that he'd fallen back to sleep. It didn't take long.
I slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of BVDs and a t-shirt and then pulled on a robe, something I never usually wore. When we were walking around the house before taking a shower, that was how both of us dressed so we didn't embarrass the live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Smith.
I walked over to the windows that looked out over the kidney-shaped pool and tried to figure out where the sound had come from. For whatever reason, I had a feeling it had come from the house that was on the other side of the pool.
With a big sigh, I tiptoed out the door and down the hall where, as I was coming around the corner into the front hallways, I found Ferdinand, our Czech gardener and ersatz chauffeur at home, standing there with his hand on the door handle. He was already dressed, wearing his uniform of khaki trousers, a tight red short-sleeved pullover shirt, and leather slip-on shoes. The shirt changed from day to day, but, as he'd been doing for a while, he wore the same style of khaki trousers and the same kind of shoes. I wasn't sure why, not that I really cared.
"Did you hear it?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes. Mrs. Grover."
"That's what I thought too." I made a sweeping motion with my hand. "You first."
He gave me his tight grin, opened the door, and then lead the way out onto the porch.
. . .
The house we were renting for the holidays was large. With five bedrooms and room to entertain thirty for dinner, it was nothing less than a mansion. That said, the only impressive thing about the place was the wide wrap-around porch that overlooked the front lawn and the park across the street. The building, which probably should have been two stories, rambled around a bit, having been built on a large lot. On the inside, it was completely upgraded with all the latest modern conveniences, having been renovated in 1979. The upgrade included the swimming pool, something that everyone we met seemed to agree was unnecessary and out of place.
The original owner, one Mr. Joseph Tyne, was a Welsh miner who'd made good and had built the big house for his young wife in 1892. They never had any children but had been famous around the turn of the century for their large parties. When the widowed Mrs. Tyne had passed away in '34, all her assets, including the house, had been turned over to the Tyne Trust, which still owned the place.
Whereas my Welsh great-grandfather had made his money during the California gold rush of 1849, Mr. Tyne had made his money by mining a variety of metals on both the North Island (where Auckland was located) and the South Island. Accounts varied but, from what I understood, he'd had his hand in gold, silver, copper, and antimony. It was, in fact, antimony which killed him. Apparently, the effect is similar to arsenic and, when he passed in 1912, it caused quite a sensation.
The man who'd run his company, a Mr. Thomas Selkirk, had been accused of murdering his employer with arsenic. He'd been quickly tried, found guilty, and was sentenced to hang.
An English chemist by the name of Robert Underwood happened to arrive in New Zealand the day after the judge handed down the death sentence. After Mr. Underwood read about the trial in the paper, he approached the police and explained how, in a poisoning case, arsenic could be mistaken for antimony. Since it was well known that Mr. Tyne had been in the habit of handling antimony in the course of his work, Mr. Underwood had suggested that, maybe, he'd accidentally poisoned himself. Mr. Selkirk was released after the new information was brought to the attention of the court. A new inquest (I was pretty sure that was the word) had been held and determined the old man died of accidental exposure to antimony.
Carter, of course, was the one who'd started looking into the history of the house after we'd first arrived on the 20th. He'd quickly found a historian who knew all there really was to know about the house and its original owner. Dr. Marcus Robinson taught history at The University of Canterbury in Christchurch on the South Island and had done a lot of research on Mr. Tyne and Tyne Metals, the company he'd founded. Since Dr. Robinson was spending the holidays in Auckland with family, Carter had invited him and his wife over for dinner and a tour of the house. That was when we heard all about the 1912 trial and the fact that Mr. Joseph Tyne was born David Lloyd Jones just outside Cardiff in 1832.
Mr. Jones, as he was still known then, had set sail for Cape Town in 1861 and spent 6 years there before meeting Thomas Selkirk. The two left the Cape Colony (or, according to some sources, were expelled) in 1869 and, by 1871, had settled in Auckland.
Mr. Selkirk was born in Newcastle in the North East of England in 1829 and, by all accounts, had been a fisherman until he'd vanished from the area in the late 1850s and resurfaced in Cape Town in 1866.
At some point, David Lloyd Jones changed his name to Joseph Tyne. That happened before the two men arrived in New Zealand but after they left the Cape Colony. Dr. Robinson's theory was that Mr. Jones had taken on the last name of Tyne since Newcastle was located on a river of that same name and Mr. Selkirk was from there. In any event, by 1890, Tyne Metals was the largest mining company, by far, in New Zealand and Mr. Joseph Tyne was one of the first tycoons to live in the British colony.
He married Angela Marsden, daughter of an Auckland solicitor, in 1889 when she was 23 and he was 57. According to Dr. Robinson, she was working as a teacher and had never seemed interested in marriage before then. Her father worked for the law firm retained by Tyne Metals. How the two met was never clear since there were a number of conflicting stories. One said that Mr. Tyne saw her at her father's office and immediately fell in love. Another said that they happened to pass by each other on the street. A third version was that Mr. Tyne, desperate to get married, had asked his lawyers to set the whole thing up. Dr. Robinson tended to believe that story.
Their springtime wedding in early December of 1889 had been the event of the year. They'd honeymooned in Tasmania and then settled into wedded bliss in a rented house close to the Tyne Metals headquarters, he with his bedroom and she with hers.
Tyne House, located at 77 Tyne Hill Road at the top of Tyne Hill, overlooking the center of Auckland, across the street from Tyne Hill Gardens, a park Mr. Tyne had commissioned to be built for the city, and in the center of what would eventually be known as Tyne Garden Estates, was built over the spring and summer of 1891-1892. The first party was thrown in June of 1892 and they'd continued on a regular basis until Mr. Tyne's death 20 years later.
Meanwhile, Mr. Selkirk, who never married, always claiming to be too busy running Tyne Metals to find a bride, eventually built his own house at number 79, right next door to his employer who lived at number 77.
When Dr. Robinson got to that part of the story, Carter and I had both laughed. Dr. Robinson asked what was funny about the house being next door. Carter said it was obvious Mr. Tyne and Mr. Selkirk were lovers. Dr. Robinson didn't seem to like that, and his wife lectured us about the platonic nature of male relationships in the 19th century. They left as soon as they'd had their dessert which was an ice cream sundae that Mrs. Kimberley, the cook who came with the house, had called a knickerbocker glory.
New Year's Day, 1979
Hopkins Dallas Hotel
2201 North Stemmons Freeway
Dallas, TX 75207
January 1, 1979
12:01 a.m.
It was a cold, icy night and Carter and I were dancing like we did when we were young.
The DJ had found an old version of Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians performing "Auld Lang Syne."
I closed my eyes as we moved around the dance floor, my left hand in his right and his other arm around my waist, holding me close, with mine around the small of his back.
We were celebrating the new year north of the equator for the first time in a long while. Normally, we went somewhere warm for the holidays, but that year, we decided to stay in San Francisco. It was the first time in more than ten years that we'd done so.
And the weather in Dallas had welcomed us with cold, frigid hands. As we were dancing, it was about 25 outside and the mercury was steadily dropping. Trees and power lines all over town were coated with ice thanks to the fact that it had been sleeting earlier that day. On TV, we'd heard how power was out in different parts of the city. Fortunately, the hotel had never lost power and had been able to take in a few guests who needed a warm place to spend New Year's Eve.
Our plane had arrived at Love Field on the previous afternoon, when it was a bit warmer. We'd been driven over to the hotel, which wasn't too far away.
We'd been greeted at the front door by Charles Marcus, the general manager. He'd previously worked for another hotel in the area. I wasn't sure which.
Charles had contacted me in the middle of November and invited us to spend New Year's Eve in Dallas. He was pulling together an invitation-only party which would be exclusively gay and held inside the private club at the top of the hotel called The Fourteenth Floor. He said he was selling tickets for a hundred dollars a pop and how all of the money raised would go to our foundation.
Since that was the case, we couldn't resist. I promised I would personally match whatever he raised and multiply his take by ten. If he could sell a hundred tickets for ten grand, I'd add another ninety and make it an even hundred. Easy enough.
When we'd arrived, he'd showed me his records. He'd sold just shy of five hundred tickets and to folks from as far away as Phoenix and Baton Rouge.
I'd congratulated him on a job well-done and written a check to him, personally, so that the total came to an even five hundred grand and he could pay out the whole amount to the foundation in one lump sum. After Carter and I were up in our suite, I'd realized that might have been a mistake for tax reasons and otherwise...
. . .
Once Guy Lombardo had finished singing, the DJ started up a disco version of the same song.
Carter let go of me and then began to do his usual boogie. It involved him swiveling his hips and grinding them up and down while doing a two-step dance move with his big feet that he'd picked up when we used to spend the holidays in Rio. When he got down on the dance floor like that, a small pack of admirers would always gather.
At 58, he was still the most handsome man on six continents (I'd checked).
And he looked like he could have been in his 40s. His reddish blond hair was only partially streaked with white. His muscles were just as big as they'd ever been. And, at 6'4", he still commanded most every room he walked into, even though there were plenty of kids, anymore, who were his height or taller.
We were both wearing the 1978 version of a white tie tux. Our outfits matched, even down to the bow ties, button-up vests, and white patent leather pumps. The only thing we were missing were top hats, but I had stopped wearing a hat back in the early 70s and had no desire to do so again.
His trousers were skin-tight and made of some kind of stretchy polyester. I didn't like how it smelled. Neither did he, but he'd decided the look was what counted. He'd practically bathed in British Sterling cologne, his new favorite scent, to cover up the chemical stench.
Cologne was a new thing for him. I didn't mind it. His sense of smell was much stronger than mine, so, if he could stand it, so could I. But I preferred a whiff of something simple, like Aqua Velva, when I kissed him.
My trousers didn't have the same awful odor, since they were made of wool and had a smooth silk lining, like they were supposed to. And I didn't wear cologne, either. I just splashed on after-shave and that was all I needed.
In any event, Carter was doing his moves and an admiring crowd was beginning to gather, like always happened. I stood where he'd left me and watched as he got down and grooved to the disco beat.
Whenever we went out to the discos, anymore, I always let him do his thing and enjoy being admired by the crowd. For myself, I preferred to find a nice spot where I could watch everyone as they moved and chatted with friends and attempted to hook up (and sometimes succeeded). I looked around to see if I could find any such thing.
After a moment or two, I spied the DJ's booth, which was elevated above the dance floor and across the room from where I was standing. Through thick glass that reminded me of a bank in a rough part of town, I could see the black kid who was manning the turntables. He had on a pair of big headphones and was smiling and nodding to the beat as he made a motion with his hand that made me think he was putting the needle on the next record.
Sure enough, the disco version of "Auld Lang Syne" faded away. I then heard a familiar count to two followed by the crowd cheering as "Le Freak" started up.
Most everyone who'd been standing on or sitting by the edges of the dance floor (single guys, by the look of things) made their way to dance to the song that had been popular for a while and didn't seem to be losing any steam.
Carter's admirers pushed him towards the middle of the dance floor. From what I could see, he appeared to be having fun. So did they. I smiled in admiration, happy to be watching and not part of the action.
With the crowd moving onto the floor, I took the opportunity to make a wide circle around the room in an attempt to find refuge in the DJ's booth. I was hoping that, since I was the owner of the joint, he might let me sit on a stool or something and watch the night away from a lofty distance.
. . .
On my way around, I decided to make a stop at one of the bars and pick up a rum and Coke.
"Mr. Williams!" exclaimed an enthusiastic redhead who had to be about 25, if that.
I smiled. "How's business?"
"Considering everyone shoulda stayed home in this weather, I'm doin' fantastic." He eyed my outfit and, with a grin, said, "Classy threads!"
"Thanks."
Giving me a professionally seductive smile, he asked, "What can I get you?"
"Dark rum and Coke on the rocks."
"Captain Morgan?"
I shook my head. "You should have a bottle of Gosling's. It's a requirement for every Hopkins bar."
He grinned. "We do. And we were wondering why we had it on hand. Every other place I've ever worked only had Captain Morgan. Is it your favorite?"
I nodded.
He laughed. "Gosling's and Coke. Coming right up." He turned and headed towards the middle of the bar.
He was wearing the same thing all the other bartenders were wearing: a tight black t-shirt with our logo ("Hopkins Hotels") just above his left nipple. On the back was a silk-screened image of the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill in San Francisco in silhouette. Under that, it read, "Welcome to '79" in the same style as our logo. It was a special thing Charles had ordered just for the night.
Carter had mentioned how the silhouette should have been of the Dallas hotel. He had a point. With the three buildings (of varying heights) clustered as they were in a triangle along with their distinctive pyramid roofs, they presented an impressive outline from the freeway as we drove in from the airport. They were supposed to grab your attention and, apparently, they did.
According to Charles, the local papers had complained about them being too unique when the buildings were finally finished. More than one person had admitted to police that they were gawking at the hotel when they'd hit the car in front of them during rush-hour traffic.
One of the other bartenders walked by right then. A blond with a tight crew-cut and an earring in his right ear, he appeared to be in a bit of a rush. And he looked frazzled. In fact, he was in more of a rush and more frazzled than was normal for even a New Year's Eve. To be honest, he looked panicked.
I watched as he disappeared through a pair of swinging doors. Something told me to follow him, so I left a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and did just that.
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Author Bio:
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Boxing Day, 1981
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