SpearPoint Publications

He could have easily missed the door if he hadn’t been searching for it. But there it was, Room 303, ‘The Chapter Shoppe, by Appointment Only’. 

He’d been told to knock five times, then enter, which he did. And there…

He didn’t intend to buy anything. He just wanted to browse for a while, really just waste some time in the little shop that specialized in used musical instruments off a London alley. 

“How much for this?” he asked the…

He was leaning forward in his recliner trying to catch every piece of the action on his television when the doorbell rang. Quickly checking his watch, he knew it wasn’t his brother and he wasn’t expecting any Amazon deliveries until…

Finally, time alone, he thought to himself as he checked his watch. Sunday night after ten-thirty the calls typically fell off real fast. There were lots of theories why, but nobody really knew the true reason. But, for whatever reason…

The young FBI agent flashed his badge to the maître d' and said, “I’m looking for Tony Collazo. You may know him as Tony Swimsuits. He here tonight?” He’d been out of the Academy for just three weeks and he…

The real estate agent had just finished showing the old house to the elderly couple when she explained, “This home was built in the late 1800’s and, as you can see, it has been very well maintained. The floor plan…

“That’s it. That’s the one,” he said to the driver. He pointed as he said it, the cigarette held in his fingers glowing in the dark. 

The driver slowed the truck and rolled down his window to get a better…

It was late in the afternoon. Most of the other members were in the club house bar doing whatever wealthy men do after golf when their wives weren’t around. But two men remained out on the practice green, working on…

The jeep pulled-up in front of the Quonset hut and stopped. The driver checked his watch and knew he was right on time, which was really important. He couldn’t afford too many more screw-ups in his Army career, and today…

He sat up in bed, half awake, picked-up his t-shirt, smelled it, shrugged and put it on. The early morning sun was just peaking over the eastern hills of Boise, his newly adopted town, and it was chilly outside. He…

He held the small painting, inspecting it closely under the dim light of the garage. “Who the hell is this guy  . . . Monet  . . . anyway?” he asked gruffly. “Never heard of him.” 

“It’s pronounced ‘Monay’, Gregory…

He was surprised and responded, “Well, I’m in that age zone now where things can happen, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.” Faster was better, he thought to himself, but didn’t say it aloud. “So, maybe you might want to look for…