The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 14)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on


More hand transplants are occurring all the time.  But what if the body doesn’t contain the personality?

(Blog 14)

“I do,” he replies with a tilt of his head.

“Thanks,” I say as he hands me a couple of them.  I glance at Richard and the girls.  The giant weirdo is laughing but I can’t see the girls’ reaction to what he is saying.  What a jerk.  I’m going to try and save at least part of my fantasty night but first I need to fix my fly.  “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Go to the end of the bar and you’ll see a door.”

I stumble past the bar to a door initially hidden by the shelving behind the bar.  I can see the girls’ faces now.  Wanda keeps looking at Richard’s crotch.  I think Yoshima is too.  Michelle doesn’t seem as interested.  Good!  I still have a chance to have an exciting night.

The signs on the bathroom show a gentleman wearing a top hat and tux holding a cane pointing to the left and a woman with a tiara standing on his right with a gloved hand raised towards the right.

I open the door and see a short hallway.  A door at the end has a Employees Only sign.  I push open the door on the left.  Along the left wall are two sinks followed by four urinals with wooden dividers between them.  On the right side are three stalls.  Might as well relieve myself before I use the safety pins.

The door to the men’s washroom bangs open.  I almost miss the urinal.  Richard stands at the urinal next to mine.  “Hard to do this with one hand,” he says conversationally.  “They told me there is a baseball pitcher whose about my size.  He’s not playing well and has a drug problem.  Guess I’ll have new hands soon.”

My mouth drops.  “What?”

Richard looks down at me with a wide grin.  “New hands,” he says.  I watch him as he whistles while he washes his hands.  “I just want to say,” I hear him say in a woeful voice as he starts to open the door, “You Von Bucati’s have done me a lot of good.  Never thought I would have hands again after I lost them in the car chase.”

“What car chase?” I ask.

“After robbing a Royal Bank in Guelph my partner escaped in a white Dodge Caravan and while I roared off in my Harley V-Rod Muscle.  I turned down an old dirt bike path and lost control.  Woke up and they told me I would lose my hands.  Got me out of prison but what was I going to do with no hands?  So Mrs. Von Bucati, offered to get me hands for a short while with the understanding that after I gave them back she would look for new ones.  Now I’ve given one of the hands back and there’s this baseball player who nobody likes.  Mrs. Von Bucati figures his hands are about right for my size.  She thinks he might get into an accident because of his attitude and drug addiction.  I’m a lucky man Mr. Von Bucati, all thanks to your family.”

“Stay away from the strawberry blonde,” I say as the door closes behind him.

The Von Bucati Mansion: The Cottage (Blog 13)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on

I can handle watching most operations on TV.  The exception is when they show a cataract getting cut off.

(Blog 13)

Michelle, Yoshima, and Wanda are sitting on stools sipping champagne glasses full of pink champagne.  Each of them has two empty shot glasses on the bar top beside them.  I can hear them giggling at something the bartender is saying.  He has a mop of black curly hair and half hooded dark blue eyes.  His face is pinched in like a weasel.  What a dirt bag he is!

I put my hands around the upper curve of Michelle and Yoshima’s hips.  “What’s so funny?” I slur out.

“I don’t know,” Michelle says as she leans against me for support.

“Me neither,” Yoshima says leaning against me as well.

“Or me,” chirps in Wanda.

I slip my hands farther around Michelle and Yoshima to give them better support.

“Ladies,” a female voice with a peculiar accent says behind me.  I can feel Elizabeth Von Bucati’s icy touch freeze through my suit jacket and shirt so that I’m chilled through the spine.  “Richard, the very tall man,” she continues, leaving her hand pressed against my back between the shoulder blades.  “Did you know he lost both his hands saving a school bus full of children after a transport truck cut through a red light and smashed the bus over a railing into a river?”

“No!” all the girls said in unison.  Michelle and Yoshima slip off their stools and away from my touch.  Wanda shouts, “Wait!” and follows them over to the freaky giant.

I glance at Richard.  He must have seen my scowl because he shuddered before turning his attention back to the girls.  They all look so hot I almost forget Elizabeth’s freezing hand is still between my shoulder blades.

“I wonder what flavour of ice cream you like best,” I hear her say behind me.  She steps to my side.  “So many to choose from,” she continues with a sadness to her voice.  “Dark chocolate, mocha, butter pecan, mango, strawberry, vanilla, and all the combinations.”  I see her glance at the bartender and he instantly reaches under the bar and takes out a round bottle with semi-transparent red liquid inside.  He pours it into a brandy glass.   I see the name Brugerolle Cognac Exrtra on the label.  He fills the glass until it is a quarter filled.

Elizabeth is silent as she swirled the glass.  After she takes a sip, she says,  “Ice cream melts Mr. Deleppe but the bowl or sundae glass can last forever.  You just need to keep filling it with ice cream.”  She takes another sip.  “It could be the same ice cream or a different one.  Personally, I like to try different flavours over time.”

The girls are really chatting it up with Richard.  I can see him showing his hook explaining whatever nonsense to them so he can enchant them.

“In the past if you needed an eye reshaped to see better, surgeons used a scalpel.”  Elizabeth is saying to me.  I don’t really care but she is my client and paying for today.  “Nowadays, if you need an eye re-shaped to fit they use lasers.  Sounds much better does it not?”

I look down at her.  Her one good eye glares back at me full of malice.

“Of course Elizabeth,” I say with my most understanding voice.

“So you understand?” she asks.

Her dead eye creeps me out and I almost look away.  “Yes, perfectly.”  I glance at the girls.  They are touching Richard’s oversized hand, asking questions.

“Enjoy the rest of the day Mr. Deleppe.  Supper will be served shortly.”

“You to Elizabeth,” I say.  She wanders off towards the girls and Richard.  Richard moves away from the doorway behind him and Elizabeth disappears behind it.

I turn to the bartender.  “Do you have a safety pin?”


The Von Bucati Mansion: The Cottage (blog 12)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on


I haven’t included any clowns so far.  The day of the clown might be over with IT coming out.  Clowns used to be funny or sad.  Ride monocycles, have squeaky noses, and do amazing acrobatics.  Now all you hear from little kids is, “The killer clowns are going to get me!”  But I say:  “Long live Ronald McDonald!” as long as he’s vegetarian.

(Blog 12)

The limousine has stopped!  Just as I have Michelle lying across my lap drawing circles around the hair on my chest from where she unbuttoned my shirt.  Yoshima and Wanda laughed at Michelle’s antics but I can see the jealousy in their eyes as they constantly lean forward to show me their ample bosoms.

“Are we staying overnight?”  I ask, running my hand along the curve of Michelle’s right thigh.

“Yes,” Wanda replies and I can hear the competitiveness in her voice.

“Yes,” Yoshima says circling her lips with the tip of her tongue.

The limousine doors pop open.  Wanda and Yoshima push open their doors and I can see their skirts tighten around their asses.  My hand slips nearer to Michelle’s inner thigh as the other girls stumble out.

“I guess we better clean up,” Michelle says sitting up.  She smiles in a happy daze as she buttons up my shirt.  “See you inside,” she says, before pressing the tip of her tongue against my neck.  She playfully bites down on my skin.  I run my hand along her bottom as she clamours out.

“Show time,” I mumble but it’s really hard to move while my vision is spinning.

When I get out the sun burns my eyes so I slip on my Burberry thin rimmed sunglasses on.  I make sure the tail of my shirt is out so I can hide my open crotch and button up my suit jacket.  The limo is parked in a very long curved driveway.  The cottage is made of wood logs stained red with white framed windows.  It has three storeys, each with white pained balconies.  No one is outside but me.  I stumble towards the double doors with their brass latched handles.  It’s a couple of steps up to the doors and I’m finding it really hard to keep walking, but I must persevere, there is business and pleasure to be had inside.

Inside is a hall with an oak cabinet for coats and boots.  Staircases go upwards on either side of the hall.  Farther on in I can see a bartender standing behind a long maple wood bar.  He’s wearing a white t-shirt with rolled up sleeves handing a shot glass to each of the girls.

As I step closer to the girls I see the room has six octagonal tables all made of poplar.  The walls are all varnished white pine with an oak shelf three quarters of the way up.  On the shelves are models of antique metal cars, trucks and tractors.  Three chandeliers give the room a dim, romantic yellow glow.  I squint and see at the very back of the dining room, leaning uncomfortably against a door, a familiar giant of a man with one brown oversized left hand and a hook on the other.  Looking tiny in front of him is Mrs. Von Bucati or as I know her Elizabeth, and a peculiar individual with a hump.  The humped figure is wearing a brown kangaroo jacket with the hood up.

I move closer to get a better look.  Elizabeth is wearing a white dress shirt decorated with pink flowers that look like hellebores.  Her blue slacks seem to sag and I see she has a black belt holding them up.  Richard lee looks mortified and is sweating profusely.  Poor him.  I turn back to the girls.


The Von Bucati Mansion: The Cottage (Blog 11)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on


Al Lewis (Grandpa from The Munsters TV series) said Fred Gwynne (Herman Munster) would take off his boots for lunch and sweat would pour out.  We have to work hard to make it look easy.

(Blog 11)

“I keep getting that,” I say as the limo slows down and stops.  “I guess we’re here.”

“I guess–,” Wanda starts to say when a beautiful girl with curly blonde hair and emerald green eyes gets into the limo and sits in the seat beside Wanda.  I can tell she has some oriental descent from the luscious epicanthic fold of her upper eyelids.  Her lime green miniskirt with white and blue flowers is tight across her ample bosom and stretches over her tiny waist and lovely round hips.

“Hello, Wanda,” Wanda says with a shaky, jealous voice.  I see her reach out her right hand.

“Yoshima,” the new girl says in a soft, sweet voice as she shakes Wanda’s hand.  Yoshima reaches her hand towards me.

“Charles,” I reply, taking her hand.

“What do you do for Mrs. Bucati?”  Wanda asks Yoshima in an irritated voice.

“I am Mrs. Bucati’s hairstylist.”

“Can I pour you a drink Yoshima?” I ask with a handsome grin.

“Yes, is there vodka and orange juice?”

Wanda takes out the orange bottle we finished off and shrugs, “Sorry.  Maybe Charles has some in his fridge.”

I can feel my face grow red.  “I don’t think you want to drink it,” I say with a higher voice than I normally use.

“Why not?” Yoshima asks, leaning forward, dazzling me with her emerald eyes and creamy bosom.

“Have you seen the chauffer?”

“No.” Yoshima and Wanda say at the same time.

I take the orange juice bottle and pass it to Yoshima.  She opens it and grimaces.  “Gross, it smells like urine and alcohol!”

Wanda leans forward.  “You can smell it from where I’m sitting.  Put the lid back on!”

Yoshima re-lids and passes it to me.

“Guess he couldn’t hold it,” I say with a shrug and put the bottle back in the fridge.

“He needs to be fired–,” Wanda begins when the limo stops again.

A lean freckled face woman with shoulder length strawberry blonde tresses opens the door beside Yoshima, closes it, opens the door across from me, and sits down.  Calm lake water under a hot sun eyes stare at me.  The freckled face beams at me.  “Are you related to Mrs. Von Bucati?” she asks me in a sultry voice.

“No he isn’t,” both Wanda and Yoshima say at the same time.

“His eyes look like hers,” the new girl says leaning her face closer to mine.  “I’m Michelle.”



The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on


I enjoyed the movie Van Helsing with Hugh Jackman and Kate Beckinsale but is it horror comedy, or horror drama?

(Blog 10)


I’m feeling a bit tipsy and I have to pee.  How long does it take to get from Toronto to Lake Eugenia?  There’s a mickey of Heering’s Cherry Liqueur I want to try.  I’ll just guzzle it down.  I really have to go!  I’ll move over to one of the seats with the driver’s window behind it and knock.  Nothing!  We just keep moving and I don’t think I can hold it much longer.

I slide over to my original seat and undo my pants’ button.  I’m not going to waste all this alcohol even if my gut bursts.  I’ll make the next drink orange juice with Crystal Head Vodka.  I’ll drink the first glass and pour the rest of the vodka into the brandy glass.  As I swirl the glass around I hold the skull out as if I am Hamlet holding the skull of the jester, Yorick.  Out loud I say, “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”  Female actresses are so passionate and so easy to seduce if you can speak Shakespearean.  Good retention along with fabulous looks means always getting the lead in plays.  I forget how many girls I dated in high school and dated at the same time.

I feel calm.  No one is paying attention, and I really have to go pee.  The bottle of orange juice is empty and I believe its mouth is just large enough for me to use without splash back.  Ahhh!

The car is stopping.  Now I can’t get it out.  OUCH!  Come on!  I’ll turn the bottle as I push down.  The door is opening!  I hunch down so my hands and the bottle are below the table.

A very sweet looking girl about the same height as Elizabeth Bucati is getting into the bucket seat directly across from me.  Her skin is dark and smooth and what a wonderful smile.  Her hair is raven black and curly flowing just to cover her shoulders.  The neon blue blouse she’s wearing is unbuttoned half way down her ample bosom.  And now it is getting harder to get unstuck.  It doesn’t help that her trim stomach leads to sensuous legs hardly hidden by her black skirt.  Or the way the cross strings of her dark blue sandals run my eyes towards her lean calves and higher.

“Are you okay?” she asks with a wonderful Jamaican accent.  There’s a slight gap in her teeth as she smiles that just adds to her attractiveness.

“Drank a little too much,” I reply, slowly turning the bottle and trying not to stare at her bosom.   I slip my right hand off the bottle and reach towards hers.  She shakes it vigorously.  “Charles,” I say, “Charles Deleppe.”

“Wanda Sikes,” she replies.  “I’m Mrs. Bucati’s aesthetician.

“There are drinks below if you would like to refresh,” I tell her with my smoothest, charming voice.

“Oh, let’s see.”

As she looks at the mickeys I push down really hard.  But I’m Stuck!  I start pushing the bottle up and down to get it off but seeing down Wanda’s top as she looks through the bottles is having another effect.  The bottle pops off and tears fill my eyes from the pain.  I put the lid on and stick it into the fridge so the smell doesn’t reach her.

“I’ve never tried Tuaca Cinnaster before,” she says displaying the bottle.  “Would you like to share?  Are you okay?”

“Allergies,” I reply sniffing.  “Yes I would.  There are glasses below.”  As she gets herself a brandy glass I lean back button up my pants and try start pulling my zipper up.  Now I have the slider in my hand.  I slip it into my dress shirt’s breast pocket.  I’m going to pull my dress shirt’s hem out and just have to act Modern or just keep my jacket buttoned up the entire time.

Wanda takes a sip from her brandy glass.  She leans forward staring into my eyes.  “Are you related to Mrs. Von Bucati?”

The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog 9)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on


Narcissism does not make a leading character anyone one cares about.  But, does it make you want to see that character get what’s coming to them?

(Blog 9)


The Cottage Cont.

My hours are between 10 a.m. and 6 p.m. with two hours off between 12 p.m. and 2 p.m.  However, my answering machine and text message reply say I’m extremely busy but will get back as soon as I have an available moment.  Someone of my calibre should be waited upon.

I like to play Grand Theft Auto on my IPad while I wait for a client to call.  My current game is linked to three other players.  What they don’t know is that I always play with the cheat mode on, so I never lose.  Unfortunately, I play a free version and it gets cut off whenever DMA Design finds the free site.  Luckily, some hacker named Whose Your Uncle keeps a list of e-mail players and sends us his new site.  Today I’m going to win—

Some idiot is honking a car horn right outside my office door!  I’m trying to ignore it but it keeps going.  Oh, its 10:01 a.m.!  I’ll bring my IPad along with my briefcase.  I need my wallet and my keys, and my slate grey suit jacket!

Outside a black Bentley Limousine with three side windows is running.  The windows are covered in a reflective silver mirror.  How long is it going to take for this guy to get out and open the door form me?  The car’s horn blasts again and I’ve jumped about ten feet in the air.  What a lazy driver, I’ll just let myself in.

The bucket seats are covered in pristine beige leather.  I’m sitting in a back seat that faces two seats on the other side.  I’m the only one in the car.  A small table, about the size of a coffee table, made from teak wood takes up the centre of the floor.   The top of the table is covered in clear linoleum with pockets in front of each seat to keep wine glasses from slipping and two sizes of holes for either cups or shot glasses.  I see a metal door underneath with a latch handle and open it.  The interior is filled with mickey bottles of all kinds of spirits, a bottle of orange juice and a litre of water.  A wooden door beside it contains shot and brandy glasses.

On the top of the table is a folded piece of plain white paper with my name written on it in precise hand writing:

Dear Mr. Deleppe, I must ask you to not mention our association to anyone including more of your associates.  Enjoy as much alcohol as you like but remember you can’t leave the limo until you reach the cottage.  Enjoy!  Life can be short.

Elizabeth B.

I never turn down an offer for free alcohol!  A Family Doctor I was representing in a land dispute invited me to dinner about a year ago to discuss his case.  In his own words he said:  “Have as much as you like.” as he gestured towards a bottle of Hennessy XO cognac.  So I kept pouring myself glass after glass.  Personally I rarely drink when I’m on my own—it’s just too expensive.

I’ll just see how much of a mickey of St. Remy I can pour into a brandy glass and leave just enough room to put some orange juice at the top.

The Von Bucati Mansion–The Cottage (Blog 8)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on

Humour is an interesting part of society.  Can you make someone laugh without mocking them, someone else, or putting yourself down?  Situational humour maybe.  I’m thinking of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean.

(Blog 8)

Part Two

The Cottage

Even with the air-conditioning blasting my dark grey silk shirt is sticking to my skin.   It’s June twenty-second and Elizabeth Von Bucati is my sole client.  I’m looking through my designated Ferrari page on my phone I can see a new car is coming out next year when I hear Mac Davis signing It’s Hard To Be Humble over my phone speaker.  I can’t see any identification of the caller.  “Hello?”

“It’s Elizabeth Von Bucati.  Be ready outside of your office for the limousine at 10 a.m.”  I still can’t place her accent.  It sounds like a mixture of Germanic and British.

“I have some associates that you should meet Mrs. Von Bucati.”

The silence on the phone must mean she’s amazed at how smart her lawyer is.  “We agreed on confidentiality Mr. Deleppe.”  She really needs to get rid of the sharpness in her voice.  “Who else have you spoken to?”

“Other lawyers I work with, so you don’t need to worry about confidentiality.  There is an unwritten rule amongst lawyers.”

“What are their names?”

I sit back and exhale.  I imagine the 250 GTO Technopromo model in my collection and grin.  “Bert Asworth, a corporate lawyer, you really could use him on board.   Janet Marks, a criminal lawyer, but I don’t see you needing her.”  I could hear scribbling.  “Should I invite them?”  I feel smug that she’ll agree to whatever I say now.

“No.  Thank you for giving me their names Mr. Deleppe.  Make sure you are in the limousine at 10 a.m. tomorrow.”  The line goes dead.


The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog 7)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on

The soul is an interesting topic.  As one person pointed out to me you can have everything in your body replaced, including the heart, and still be yourself.  But if the brain is removed, so is the person inside.

Cont.  (Blog 7)

“You an enforcer on your off time?” Janet asks as we get into her car.

I raise my right eyebrow.  “Maybe.”

“Why would a guy that big be scared of a lazy weakling like you?”  She’s shaking her head.

“You owe me dinner,” I say.  I don’t feel I’m lazy or weak.  “Why build muscles when they’ll just turn to fat later?”

“Muscle and fat cells aren’t the same.  Even if they were why not be muscular instead of flabby like you are now?”

“Let’s go to Milestone’s.”   I pull down her visor and look into the vanity mirror.  As she pulls out of the parking lot I comb back my hair.

“You’re kidding me.”  I hear her say as she turns down Spadina Avenue and heads north.

“Where are we going?”

“The Black Bull off Soho Street.  We can play pool while you tell me about the Bucati family.”

“Can’t, client confidentiality.”

“You can or I’ll go to Richard’s condo again and find out.  Did you see how big his hands and feet are.”

“My hands and feet are large too,” I say with a scowl.  “And my hands look like they fit my body.”

I see her glance at my hands.  She snorts.  “Well jealous boy, he probably works in the sun wearing long sleeved shirts or his tanning spray has worn off his hands.”

“That makes sense.” I reply with my own sarcastic snort.  “His hands aren’t just a different colour than the rest of his skin but they’re much bigger.”

“That is a bit creepy.  Don’t growth hormones make body parts bigger?”

“Or hand transplants.”

“He’s humungous Charlie-“

“Charles,” I correct her.

“Where would you find hand replacements for someone that big?”

I brush back my hair and stay quiet as we drive along Queen Street past old buildings until we come to a stretch of shops all connected.  She turns down Soho Street and parks.

The Black Bull is inside a brick building with doors painted red like a fire truck.  Inside there’s a pool table and dining tables.  Above the door we just walked in is a flag that says “I Am Canadian”.  Its pact.

“We’ll eat outside,” Janet tells me.

So we go out and sit at a patio table on green Adirondack chairs and wait for the waiter.

“What about the Bucati family?” she asks.

I shrug.  “Von Bucati family.  I represent them now.”

She leans forward as if she’s interrogating me.  “Why would he think you were part of their family?”

“No idea.  Maybe the colours of my eyes are the same as Elizabeth’s.”

“Whose Elizabeth?”

“Don’t talk to me that way Janet, I’m a lawyer too.”

She leans back and crosses her arms so I know this won’t end until I tell her.  “She’s the matriarch.  A very rich matriarch.”

“You owe me Charles.”  She accentuates the Charles.  “If they need help with a speeding ticket or anything else I want involved.”

“I don’t owe you.  You owe me.  So what do I get if I include you in any cases that might come up?”

She leans towards me again but this time with her tilted in a very seductive posture.  “Depends if your hands and feet are as big as you say they are.”  She sits back and folds her arms across your chest.  “It’s not how big your ego is that determines size you know.”

I am a little offended.  Confidence shouldn’t mean a big ego.  “We’ll see.”

The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog 6)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on

We could argue over what horror is.  The effects of war, murder, torture, however, I think I’ll go with the Anne Rice idea of using preternatural individuals.  Do you believe poltergeist exist or do they exist only in our imagination?

Cont. (Blog 6)

We walk to Janet’s 2018 graphite grey 228i BMW coupe.  “How long has Richard been your client?” she asks, slipping on her sunglasses.

I gulp and clench onto the wallet tighter.  After I put the money in I took out his licence.  I read on the card that Richard is forty-nine years of age and 2.04 meters or six foot seven inches.  “Not long,” I say adjusting her passenger seat back.  “Shouldn’t I drive?” I ask.

“Because you’re a cool mucho macho man?”

I run my hands through my hair.  “That’s correct.”  I feel like an idiot sitting in the passenger side of her car.  “Because of client confidentiality I need you to stay in the car.  It would be better if he saw me getting outside of the driver’s side.”

“Oh, I’m coming with you.  After you screwed up Gerald Hine’s case I want to make sure you can give back a wallet properly.”

I turn my head so she can’t see me snarl.  I should have taken the cash and left the wallet in the cart, or another one, or thrown it in the dumpster right away.  Richard better be thankful.

“We’re here,” she says pulling into the parking lot of a red brick condo building on Oxley Street.

I whip out of her car and dash towards the entranceway.  Before she catches up I punch 401 on the key pad inside.

“Yes,” a man’s voice booms out of the speaker.

“I found your wallet,” I blurt out.  Janet is almost to the door so I grab the handle so she can’t come in.

“I’ll be down–,” he starts to say when I interrupt him.

“I’ll bring it up!” I shout.  Janet is screaming at me now.  I hear the main entrance door’s lock unlatch.  I let go the outside door, grab the inside door and swing myself around before slamming it closed.  With a wink at Janet I head towards the elevators.

I walk down a plush hall of scarlet coloured carpeting and egg white walls to door 401 and push the buzzard.

He’s enormous and dressed in a black t-shirt with the skull and crossbones crest of the Caribbean on the upper left and khaki cargo shorts. I can’t believe the size of his hands!  They are inhumanely wide and thick, even for a man his size.  And unlike the rest of his pale pink body, his hands are tanned like someone from the Middle East.  Not good!  Janet is storming down the hallway towards me.  I hand the wallet towards Richard.  He’s staring at me in terror as he takes it back.

“It’s not time yet—is it?” he asks, stepping farther back into his condo.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re from the Bucati family.”

“No, I represent them.”

“I know those eyes.”  He starts to close the door.  “They look just like hers.”  I hear the snap of numerous bolt locks.

The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog 5)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on

Having read Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein I would say Frankenstein is the scarier of the two novels.  People have had hand, face, and other parts replaced from corpses.

Cont.  (Blog 5)

As I walk into the kitchenette I see Janet sitting at the table eating a burrito and drinking a Coke Zero.  She has wonderful, long red hair that bobs at her shoulders.  I don’t think her hair is actually red since I can see chestnut brown roots but who cares.  I can tell she’s busty under her violet blouse and see her toned legs below the hem of her black skirt.  Her green eyes glare up at me as sauce drips down the side of her mouth.  I can’t help but smile at her to let her know I have forgiven her.

“Gerald Hine is going to prison for a year,” she shouts at me through a mouthful of burrito and pop.

“That was your fault Janet,” I say, shaking my head.

She gets up and slaps her palms on the table.  Food bits are shooting out of her mouth at me as she shouts, “If you had listened to me he would be back on the street!”  So much Irish ire in such a tiny person!

I slip through the door to my office but I can hear her following me.  “I told you to include the part about the alcoholic saying he didn’t see Gerald breaking into the back door but you ignored me!” she shouted.

It was time to take up a defensive position.  I sit in my swivel chair, put my hands behind my head and heave my feet onto my desk.  “No one cares what a homeless drunk says.”  I smile smugly and shrug.

“Yes they–.”  Her eyes move from me to the waste basket where here her eyebrows knit in a very attractive way.

“No they don’t.”  I start saying, trying to get her attention but it’s too late, she isn’t listening.

She puts the wallet onto the edge of my desk.  “I thought your wallet was brown.”

“It is, that must be a client’s,” I reply.

She opens up the wallet and slips out a licence card.  “Richard Lee.  His address is on my way home, I’ll drop it off to him.”

I can feel my face going red and my throat constricting.  “Better I do it since he’s my client.”

“Maybe he needs a real lawyer,” she shoots back, “I’ll take it.”

I follow her back to the kitchenette.  “I should take it back to him.” I argue.

“No!”  She says slipping it into her purse.

I give her a parental sigh.  “Give the wallet and you come with me when I drop it off.  You can take me to dinner afterwards.”

“What!?” she screams at me.  “Why should I take you out for dinner?”

“To make up for Gerald Hine going to jail for a year.”

Her mouth is open in disbelief.  She can’t refute that it was her fault.

She puts the wallet on the table.  “4 p.m. we go.  I have Richard’s address memorized so I’ll drive.”

“If it makes you feel better,” I say pulling the wallet to me.

She stomps out.

I take my wallet out and slip the cash back into Richard Lee’s.  I lose the money but gain a date with Janet.  I just need to get a hold of Elizabeth von Bucati.