COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
SMITH’S MONTHLY ISSUE #4
Copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover and Layout copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © Customposterdesigns/Dreamstime.com
“Introduction: Happy New Year” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith
“The Match” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover illustration by Gabivali/Dreamstime.com
“I Killed Jessie Took” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Elena Volkova/Dreamstime.com
The Life and Times of Buffalo Jimmy copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Designwest/Dreamstime.com
“Sleeping with the Goddess” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by tk0920/Dreamstime.com
The Adventures of Hawk copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover photo by Wisconsinart/Dreamstime.com
“The Lady and the Seeders” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Bertrando/Dreamstime.com
Monumental Summit copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Custerposterdesigns/Dreamstime.com
Poems: “Starting Fresh and Bloodied,” and “Related Holidays” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, header design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, header illustration by Mariagrazia Orlandini/Dreamstime.com
Smashwords Edition
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in the fiction in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Introduction: Happy New Year
The Match: A Poker Boy Story
Starting Fresh and Bloodied
I Killed Jessie Took
The Life and Times of Buffalo Jimmy: Chapters 10-12
Sleeping with the Goddess
The Adventures of Hawk: Chapters 10-12
The Lady and the Seeders
Monumental Summit
Related Holidays
Full Table of Contents
Smith’s Monthly
About the Author
Copyright Information
Introduction:
HAPPY NEW YEAR
A BRAND NEW YEAR.
What great fun. The promise of things to come fills the air with everyone doing new and wonderful resolutions. Lose weight, be nicer, find a new job, and so on and so on.
And writers always resolve to write more. I never do that, since I just sort of write along at my own pace all year long, as those following my blog online have seen.
Still, I do tend to enjoy the fresh feeling of the New Year. Sort of like I enjoy the first snowstorm of the year falling in big white flakes. It’s beautiful until it turns to dirty slush and gets my feet wet as the reality sets in.
Even though I am writing this near the first of December, this issue to me is a symbol of this magazine actually making it. The magazine has more support, more subscribers than I thought possible when I started this idea. And the issues sell through everyone’s favorite bookseller stores better than I had hoped.
Of course, this magazine could not exist without the new world of publishing. And for that I am thankful.
So now, with this fourth issue, the first issue in a full new year, I feel that Smith’s Monthly is just starting to hit its stride. I want to thank you all for the support. It means more to me than you can ever imagine.
So, what’s coming in this New Year? Well, to be blunt, all sorts of fun stuff.
Since this is my magazine, with only my stuff in it, and the fine people at WMG Publishing Inc. have given me the freedom to do what I want, I have some great surprises in store.
And honestly, a bunch of ideas, stories, and novels I haven’t thought of yet.
Here are some of the topics of fiction I hope to bring to you in this New Year.
—At least one, if not two, new Poker Boy novels and more Poker Boy short stories.
—Jukebox stories origin novel. Duster and Bonnie Kendal built the time-traveling jukebox that I have used in a dozen short stories over the decades. I hope to have more jukebox stories here this year.
—More Bonnie and Duster short stories and novels.
—More “I Killed…” short stories.
—More “Cold Poker Gang” short stories. Maybe even the first novel.
—A finish of both serial novels, plus continuing the series onward with second books.
—More “Seeder Universe” novels and stories.
—More Captain Brian Saber stories and possibly a novel.
And a bunch of fiction I haven’t even thought about yet.
You get the idea.
This year will bring twelve issues of around 90,000 words of fiction each. Over one million words of fiction headed your way. Some of it you might like, some you might hate. But I’ll do my best to keep you entertained no matter what you think of the story.
And that’s my New Year’s resolution: To keep being an entertainer. That’s what writers are, after all.
So stick with me for this New Year. I’ll make the journey interesting, if nothing else.
Dean Wesley Smith
December 8, 2013
Lincoln City, Oregon
Poker Boy awakes one morning in his own past, before he became a superhero in the gambling universe, before he met the love of his life, before Stan, the God of Poker, even knew Poker Boy existed.
One problem: Poker Boy remembers the next fifteen years. He belongs in 2014, not 1999. So who broke all rules against time travel and transported him into his own past? The fate of the world rested once again on finding answers. And sometimes those answers can only be found in a poker game.
THE MATCH
A Poker Boy Story
ONE
I HAD A HUNCH that something was very, very wrong when I woke up in my own bed, in my doublewide trailer in the Oregon Coast Mountains. I know it sounds weird to say I knew something was wrong because I woke up in my own bed. Where else was I supposed to wake up, after all?
Problem being, I hadn’t slept in that bed in years. Every night I normally slept with Patty Ledgerwood, aka Front Desk Girl, my girlfriend and sidekick. And she didn’t much like (read that hated) my old doublewide, so we always stayed in her apartment in Las Vegas.
I didn’t remember us having a fight.
And my sheets didn’t smell musty from lack of use for years.
So something was very wrong.
Outside a slight rain and wind was rattling the windows and drumming on the flat roof.
In five or six months, Patty and I would have a big new mansion built on land I owned up in the mountains near here that we had designed together. But until that was finished, we stayed in her wonderful apartment in Las Vegas.
I remembered going to bed last night with her.
She had already been asleep, since I had gotten in late from a tournament at the Bellagio. I remember clearly she cuddled with me for a moment, still asleep, then rolled over.
As always, she had smelled wonderful and I remember rolling over as well, thinking I was the luckiest man alive.
Which, I had to admit, I was.
So how did I get here?
Was I sleep-teleporting or something?
I put on my clothes, which were Levis, tennis shoes, a plain dress s
hirt, black Fedora-like hat and black leather coat that was my uniform. I got my power from casinos, and it felt that when I had that coat and hat on I could channel the power better.
Then I jumped back to Patty’s apartment.
Only I didn’t jump.
I didn’t go anywhere.
I just stood there in the middle of the doublewide’s living room with a face that looked like I might take a crap on the green shag carpet at any moment.
Normally I just thought about where I wanted to go, concentrated, and then went there.
I tried again.
Nothing.
My old couch with a tan blanket covering it still sat there, a half-eaten tv dinner filled the center of the fake-wood coffee table, and the rain still drummed on the roof.
For some reason, my ability to teleport was shut off.
I felt a slight twisting of worry in my stomach, but there were a thousand reasons for this happening, not the least of which was a practical joke by one of the gods.
I did another quick check of the living room of my big doublewide to see if I could see anything at all different. The big box television was on as I normally left it on when here. Sort of background sounds.
I moved over into the kitchen area and checked my fridge. It was stocked, something I hadn’t done in a couple years, and there were a few dirty dishes in the sink that didn’t even look that crusty yet.
Whoever had done this to me had gotten the details right.
There was a carton of unopened milk in the fridge. I always kept milk there, and I went to open it for a drink to try to calm my twisting stomach. That was when I noticed the sell-by date.
June 18, 1999.
Only the milk inside was very fresh.
That date was almost a year before I was first approached by Stan to be a superhero.
I put the milk back without drinking any of it.
My stomach was now twisting a lot harder than it had a moment before. Had something happened that shifted me back in time? I had learned that time travel was possible, but very protected by the gods and not allowed. In fact, from my understanding, there were very few gods who could even do it.
Had I been sleepwalking through time? Not likely. Which left only one conclusion.
Someone had sent me back here.
But who would send me back to this date and why?
Actually I didn’t know the exact date.
I went over to the television and flipped around a few channels until I hit one with a running banner.
It said the day was June 7th, 1999. It was 10:07 in the morning Pacific Daylight Time.
I dropped onto the couch and tried to remember for a moment what I was doing on this day in 1999. All I knew that in general I was a professional poker player and winning my share. Even though I lived like a broke gambler in an old doublewide trailer with furnishings decades out of date, I was already pretty rich by the early summer of 1999.
Actually very, very rich.
And I was still years from meeting Patty.
But what I had done on June 7th, 1999 was beyond me.
Finally, I had had enough. I glanced up at the ceiling and shouted “Stan, a little help?”
I have no idea why I shouted at the ceiling for my boss, Stan, the God of Poker. But I always did.
He didn’t appear.
“Hey, Stan, funny joke. Now tell me what’s happening?”
No Stan.
And without Stan, that meant I had no team either to help me solve this.
I stood and headed for the front door. I needed to get to a casino and the closest one was my home casino, Spirit Winds, about a mile away.
I opened the door not knowing what to expect.
The old black Thunderbird that I had sold in 2010 was sitting out front in the gravel driveway where I always used to park. The doublewide was tucked in under some tall pine and the rain was dripping through the trees.
I took the keys off the hook beside the front door where I always left them and went out.
The Thunderbird started right up. I let it warm up a little and checked my wallet. I had just under five hundred, which was a pretty normal amount for me to carry at that point in time. Even my 1999 driver’s license was current.
As I approached the big casino, I could see that the new additions had not yet been added.
I really was in 1999.
And totally alone once again.
TWO
MY STOMACH WAS TWISTING like a bad pretzel under a carnival vender’s heat lamp. I was going to need some food and time to think. And some power from the casino.
I parked in my normal spot around to the side of the big building and headed inside, letting the power of the casino fill me. I flat loved walking into casinos. They felt like my home and I could always feel the power they gave me, even before I had become a superhero.
The casino power calmed me as I strode toward the buffet in its old location across from the front door.
Then suddenly it dawned on me that maybe the reason I couldn’t teleport to Patty’s apartment was because it wasn’t there yet. It didn’t get built until 2004 and her apartment was on the fourteenth floor.
Damn this time travel stuff could give a guy a headache.
I quickly turned and went into the men’s restroom. No one was in there.
Then I thought of the front room of my trailer and jumped there.
It worked.
Worked fine, actually.
I clicked off the television I had left on when I left a few minutes earlier, feeling very, very relieved that I still had my powers.
I wasn’t losing my mind completely.
I jumped back to the casino’s men’s room and resumed my journey to the buffet for breakfast. Somehow I needed to figure out why I was here, who had sent me here, and how to get back to 2014.
And without my team, I had no idea how to even start doing that.
What worried me even more was that someone had done this to get me out of the way. If I disappeared into the past, out of contact, my team might not be able to stop what danger might be happening in 2014.
I paid for breakfast and asked for a table against the wall. As the woman seated me and took my orange juice order, I glanced around at the few people eating in the buffet. I didn’t know a one of them. Or at least I didn’t remember any of them.
And none of them seemed to be giving me any strange looks.
I filled my plate with some ham, scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast and sat down with my back to the wall. No one said hello or even gave me a second glance.
I took myself out of time, freezing everyone around me. It felt like I stopped time, but I really didn’t. I just stepped into a bubble between instants of time.
The sounds from the kitchen and the casino floor vanished, leaving me in complete silence.
The stepping between instants of time power was one of my most favorite powers. Right up there next to teleportation.
I took a bite of the eggs, then the ham, letting any of the gods who might be paying attention figure out there was a time bubble here that no one knew about. I knew these things were fairly easy to see for most gods.
After a full minute, I once again said, “Stan! Calling Stan, the God of Poker.”
I imagined him clearly.
He appeared in front of me, frowning, not something I normally saw on my boss’s face. The guy had the best poker face of anyone I had ever met. He was dressed as he always did, in tan slacks, a tan shirt, a plain button-down sweater and loafers. His short hair made him the plainest person I had ever met.
He glanced around at the time bubble, then back at me.
“How did you do this? And who are you?”
“My name is Poker Boy,” I said. “And you recruit me out of this casino to be a superhero in about a year. You taught me how to do this a few years later.”
He opened his mouth and shut it.
“I somehow got pulled here from 2014. I have no idea how or why
.”
“Time travel is not allowed,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “You want to tell the person who did this to me?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again without saying a word. I knew how he was feeling. Time travel was a scary thing and even my telling him as much as I had might change history. But I had to take that chance.
I indicated that he sit down and he did in the chair across from me.
“I am figuring that in the future someone needed me out of the way,” I said. “So who, among the gods, could do this? Trap me back here? More than likely Laverne, but she wouldn’t do this, so who else?”
He started to answer, but I stopped him. “I don’t want to know. We need to be careful. I just need you and Laverne to figure this out and then tell me how I get back to 2014 without going through the last, or next, as the case might be, 15 years.”
He nodded and vanished.
I moved myself back into the flow of time and the sounds came crashing back around me. Then I went to work on my breakfast again. When I got back to my own time, I’d ask Stan about this one. I had a hunch he was going to remember more about this day than I did at this moment.
I didn’t want to think about where the real me was at this moment.
At least I hadn’t woken up this morning next to myself. That might have been a tough thing to explain.
But my car had been in front of my trailer. So if I hadn’t been home, exactly where was the other me?
Then I had the worst thought of the morning.
Maybe the old me had switched places with me in the future.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Patty,” I said out loud, shaking my head and smiling at that idea.
“You should be,” a voice said beside me.
Suddenly I was back out of time, the noise of the casino and buffet gone, and Stan was sitting across from me, smiling.
And Patty was sitting beside me, giving me her pretend angry look.
Smith's Monthly #4 Page 1
