LIFE LOG: Life in the Raw: VOLUME 8

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The bottomless bounty of human life never fails to astound, sadden, comfort, and amuse in an endless variety of settings. Truly, what next?

Submitted: December 07, 2018

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Submitted: December 07, 2018




Life in The Raw

Short Short Stories

Nicholas Cochran



 ITEM 25


Well, Robert was right. This is a rat’s nest of the first order . . . or is it ‘water’? Anyway, it’s still unraveling.

Jason is working overtime to find out who was driving, who owned the car, and who owns the weed; as well as who went through the windshield.

Johnny is on the case and told Heather that it was definitely our guy who flew out the front. Johnny thinks our guy rammed Ellteaser on the way out while the airbag was deploying. Our guy hit Ellteaser so hard in his catapult bit that she was pushed hard into the inflating air bag and was then rammed back by the bag, snapping her neck. Sounds good. Don’t know if Jason will buy such a freak accident or not.

Robert is still pursuing all the loose threads of the sex ring thing. He’s been arriving late to work for a week and says it’s because the Dark Net folks haven’t learned the meaning of the word sleep; at least during the dark hours.  Robert says that there are more sex rings than circus rings down in the Deep Net. Jeez, it appears that there’s a different civilization existing in the world who only work at night. Hunh. Could explain why my neighbor usually arrives home from somewhere around 5:30 in the morning. But he’s divorced from Thelma so maybe he’s just catting around.


Robert says they captured three guys form Estonia who were arranging the transportation of the Latvian sex workers to the States, but they swear they handed them off to some group of guys who apparently motored them to California, dropping off a few in the larger cities on the way.

Oh, great. Now my home town of Chicago has even more women of the streets. Robert said that these Latvians—our Latvians—are not your regular sex workers. They are catered by some socially prominent guy in the City to the wealthy cruds at eye-watering prices. Like Pretty Woman deals, I guess.


Jason has now determined and finally fixed on the drunken guy behind the wheel as NOT being the driver, but that our guy was. Hmmm. How did he get past the steering wheel and the bag? Jason says that his accident reconstruction guru, one Cliff King, did all the measurements and other reconstruction maps and math and came up with his conclusion. Well, he’s nuts. The hole in the windshield is on the right side. 
I called Jason to ask him about this and he said that the entire windshield blew out and twisted. The first responder naturally figured that the hole in the windshield was from someone in the passenger seat. But no. Our guy flew out an open front window.  Ellteaser was hit by the guy in the back seat at the same time that her airbag was pushing her back and her neck snapped . The guy in the back who hit Ellteaser dropped into the driver’s seat and remained there. Whew. Well there’s a dandy.

Still waiting for anymore on the weed and the Latvian women. More as things untangle.


Well. This is not your everyday deal.

Gary “Spiderman” Gooch reports that he had chosen the Ritz in Stockton (isn’t that an oxymoron) for his overnight stay on a referral from a friend. Some friend ! GG dined at the local Pizza Hut before going to the Singing River Bar???

He swears he only had 2 beers. Hunh. Sounds like he’s telling this story to a cop who stopped him. None did.

Anyway, after bedding down, he was awakened by some clatter and chatter in the next room. Just before the next door folks quieted down, Gary felt something tickle his foot. Being a confirmed alarmist at heart, he yanked back the covers and lo and behold, there was a rather large furry spider of the tarantula persuasion booking across his bed to the cover of the remaining covers. Gary screamed, which woke his neighbors on both sides. He jumped out of bed and answered his door to find four people with looks of wonder and alarm on their faces.

He told them of his experience and they rushed to his bed to corner the spider. It was gone. A couple muttered that maybe Gary (a heavy drinker) was having some serious alcohol-related delusions. He swore that he saw it. He sat in his chair and examined his lower legs and feet. Damned if there wasn’t an ugly red mark on his left foot just above the arch. More screams.  Soon the manager showed up as well as a dozen more insomniacs and all began to search for the creature.

The manager, Zagreb Holtz, is a pretty nice guy and wants to do everything to help. Before the Ritz horde abandoned the search, they found a sticky trail from the floor near the bed, along the ceiling, down and out the door. Seems like the critter watched with glee as it made its way across the ceiling and off to some other poor soul’s room. Our client was not at all relieved when he saw the indications that his visitor had left.

The manager helped him move everything to the bridal suite, the only other room available, where Gary finally slept an otherwise uneventful five hours before rising to go about his business as an aluminum siding salesman. Apparently, he does very well at his job and is able to keep himself and his wife, as well as the five kids, in food and clothes. 

Raquel is his wife. I called to ask her if Gary had hurt his left foot. She first wondered who I was and why I cared. I told her that we were trying to nail down a settlement for Gary but needed more information. She said she never looked at his feet. She turned away and asked the five kids, ages 1 to six, if Daddy ever showed them any marks on his legs or feet. All but the six-year-old said no. But Jimmy piped up that Daddy had shown him a huge welt on his left foot above the arch when he rolled in that morning. Raquel gasped and hung up.

She called back and apologized but was scared and wanted to see and attend to her husband. He had flipped off his left slipper and according to Raquel there was a huge welt—and it was spreading, says Gary. They then went to the hospital.The doctors gave him a number of shots. He was feeling much, much better.

Jenny talked to the landlord/ owner of the Ritz who she said was very pleasant, but denied any fault. He said that although there was a trail of something on the walls and ceiling, there was no sign of a spider and maybe it wasn’t a spider. Jenny said she was coming over to show pictures to the manager, and look at the pictures Zagreb took this morning of Gary’s foot.

Jenny called to say that all was well, but Zagreb was not budging from his position of no fault. He told Jenny that his insurance company would call her this afternoon.


Cynthia Lane called me from the Insurance Company. We just got along great and talked for about an hour about just about everything, but we included the Spiderman as well. She will look at the foot photos but may want Gary to go to one of their doctors for an examination. She assured me that she had checked with a few doctors who said that tarantula bites cannot kill you. Short of that, it’s hot pain and a welt and swelling.

I asked our esteemed leader of I could go and stay at the Ritz undercover while I searched for any evidence of a tarantula—or any other large spiders. As always, he agreed and I’ll go tonight.


When I got to the Ritz, the joint was jumpin’, as they say. Full house. Apparently there’s a big deal at the University of the Pacific this weekend and I got the last room. Despite my having to weave my way among many drunks and listen to whistles and catcalls, I managed to get a peek into most of the rooms; probably 90% plus.

I was about to kiss off the whole search and join the party but duty called and I waited for the hijinks to settle down.

All of a sudden everyone rushed from the motel amid drunken cries of joy and goofiness. My luck clicked in. I figured with the noisy bunch gone, any tarantulas who were up to a late-night stroll, might find this to be their opportunity. I took out my camera, removed the lens cover, and went tarantula hunting.

I hadn’t looked in more than eight rooms before I found them. I say them because there were Mom and Dad and five little ones lapping up booze from a fallen keg. I switched to video and recorded the whole tribe on the imbibe. 

Naturally I hung around to see the effects of Coors Light on a tarantula. Well, no disappointments there. Mom and Dad were relatively steady after a few minutes or so. But the kiddies were definitely hammered. Three passed out and terrified the parents. Mom And Dad managed to nudge the three to their spindly spidery legs and between them, pushed each drunk to their escape route in the closet behind a loose board.  I figure I can take this viral but need to clear that with not only the Chief but also Zagreb. It could be the ruin of his business.


The chief loved the video, as did Cynthia. Zagreb, not so much.

Apparently, everyone got together and hammered out a settlement for Spiderman which is what this was really all about from the get-go.

Well, I guess it’s back to brain injuries and deaths. But I’ll miss the little critters. I wonder how long it took for the wee ones to sober up?

I told Zagreb where their escape route was but only after he signed a paper swearing not to kill the family –or even hurt them, but simply fix the loose board and have the exterminator spray some stuff to make them go somewhere else. Hope it works.


Well, it was bound to happen: another wrinkle in the Ellteaser death drama.

Jason called Jenny and said that possession for sale of the weed was no longer an issue. In fact,  all charges involving the weed have been dropped. Why? Somebody took the kilos of weed from the evidences locker. All members of the staff are under investigation by Internal Affairs. Wow. Maybe we can get someone to steal the wrecked death car. And what about Granny and the kids? And the meth?

Enough, already. I need a neat Jim Beam.


End of Volume Eight.


© Copyright 2019 Nicholas Cochran. All rights reserved.

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