Missing Starlit Read online

  Missing Starlit

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  Smashwords Edition Copyright 2014 Pamela Joan Barlow Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Present-year.

  Four weeks later.

  August 1st. 8:03 am. Von Brown Center. meeting room. Huntsville. Alabama. partly cloudy. sunny. 84°F.

  Cody: tall, athletic, black hair, black facial whiskers, blue eyes. He had survived the bomb explosion on the Hawkins farm and was fresh out of the psychiatrist’s chair, a requirement of the US Marshals office for any type of deadly dangerous disaster. He feels both happy and sad but ready to press on with his new assignment and his new supervisor in Huntsville, Alabama.

  Huntsville is the second largest city in the state of Alabama with a population of over 600,000. The area is famous for the Apollo space ship design and development during the 1970s and the current war-killing missile design, present-day. The city is located in the northern portion of Alabama with hills, valleys, and a river running from east to west covering the entire state in numerous counties. Huntsville also produces cotton bolls and computer chips, a vital part of Alabama’s thriving finances in a US tanked economy.

  He didn’t have use his pickup truck to arrive in Huntsville. He flew on an airplane from Birmingham and then lounged inside a limousine with a set of new wardrobe. He kept his old cowboy boots, thou. His new mission is top secret.

  Cody presses the jacket of his gold colored US military uniform stomping into the archway then stops. He smiles and views the room.

  The room is square classroom style with four dull white walls, no windows. There is a teacher desk without a chair, a book or a teacher. There are four metal chairs in front of small writing table without pull-out drawers. Four are occupied with a different colored US military uniform too. He waves his hand, stomping to the lonely empty metal chair and writing desk. “Hey, ya’ll! I’m Cody.”

  Male: tall, athletic, red facial whiskers, brown hair, topaz eyes, pale skin. He waves then slaps his chest. “I’m Air Force named Fucner, Rector Fucner…”

  The male inside the wheelchair laughs. “Fuck, is that really your name, son?”

  “Fucner, Rector Fucner,” he smiles and swings to the solider in the wheelchair. “Yeah, that’s really my real name.”

  The solider extends his hand. “Fuck, I wanna shake your hand. Your daddy must’ve loved the shit of you, boy naming ya so grand and fine of a fucking legend of sexual male.”

  Fucner chuckles, standing, walks to the male. “Thank ya kindly! You are, sir? When I marry and have a baby girl I’m going to name her, Fucque Fucner,” laughs with the other soldiers.

  The solider: wheelchair, blond ponytail, blond facial whiskers, brown eyes, pale skin. He laughs and shakes the hand. “Activate Coast Guard, this not female lover is named O’Hanlon Kirkwood,” winks. “O’honey, O’honey…,” chuckles with the others.

  Cody sits then swings the chair towards the new set of co-workers. Fucner walks to his chair then slaps the young male in the chair facing the front of the room. “And you are, young sir?”

  Male: short, thin, brown hair, clean shaven, brown eyes, pale skin. He clears his throat. “I represent the Marine Core. I am Alvin Rupert Zorach. I am eighteen years old from the great state of Texas. I am the son of billionaire cattle rancher. I currently serve as a lowly private for the US military for the public relations division. My internal ambition is to become the governor of Mississippi. I am starting my profession career off with a bang. “I co-saved a team of Navy Seals trapped in a valley in Afghan…”

  Fucner laughs, sitting in his assigned chair, frowns with puzzlement at Alvin. “Co-saved, is that fucking kin to words like co-author, co-star, coaster…”

  Kirkwood laughs. “Co-saved, is that a fucking American word?”

  Cody laughs. “Co-saved, is that an officially fucking military action verb?”

  Fucner laughs. “So that makes Alvin a co-hero. Right? Right!”

  Kirkwood frowns. “Ya co-saved a team of Navy Seals. How tall are ya, teen-boy?”

  Alvin smirks and stands from chair in full height. “Five feet and three inches…”

  Fucner stands and slaps his chest at six, five inches. “He’s co-tall as well as co-hero, when he co-saved the seven feet ‘nastier than Texas rattlers’ Navy Seals...,” laughs with the other soldiers then views the last male without an introduction. Fucner fingers the tall male. “You are, sir?”

  Male: tall, slender, blond hair, blond facial whiskers, pale skin, green eyes. He says. “Islander.”

  Fucner nods and smiles. “Excellent, so someone tell me why are we be present here in Huntsville, Alabama today?”

  Alburville. Alabama. four miles east of Birmingham. 8:31 am. sunny. hot. humidity. 88°F

  The mother: tall, pretty, thin, black hair, pale skin. She walks from the outside into the living room of the house waving the envelope, smiles at her daughter. “It’s here. It came. I am so excited. Here it is.”

  The daughter: tall, pretty, thin, black hair, pale skin. She chews her food at the table then texts on her mobile telephone. “What’s here?”

  “Your personal invitation into the Miss Starlit pageant, today. Registration…”

  The daughter texts, frowning with frustration. “Mama, you said that I didn’t have to do these anymore. And I said that I didn’t want to do these anymore.”

  The mother smiles, opening the envelope. “One more, this one is the big granddaddy long legs spider of the spider family. Ya know they’re the biggest bug in the world.”

  The daughter texts. “Wolf spiders living in the woodlands in Mississippi can wrestle, toss, and blood suck a mature Chihuahua, Mama. They’re the biggest darnest ugliest things in the South. Ya promised, Mama last month was the last beauty pageant.”

  The mother nods and smiles, waving the letter. “Darling, just one more pageant, that’s it forever. You’ll have all the money needed for your entire entrance into college from our freshman year until you receive your Phd in engineering working for the rest of life on easy street rather than struggling like me and your father paycheck by paycheck and then paying the minimum on the credit cards month by month and not ever getting ahead…”

  The daughter exhales, viewing her mama, slightly smiles. “Thanks for loving and helping and guiding me to the right stuff, Mama. I really love ya…”

  The mother smiles and nods. “Let’s get your ready. Registration starts at nine am then the interviews begin at ten am. During the day there is the dance practice for the musical song. Tomorrow is swimsuit and evening gown competition. The day after tomorrow is the crowning of you as Miss Starlit of Alabama, darling. I’m so excited,” spins towards the kitchen.

  VBC. meeting room. 9:01 am.

  Male: tall, gray facial whiskers, black-grayish hair, dark skin, walking cane, 50’s. He steps into the semi-naked room staring out the window at two mature 50 years old trees home to a nest of flying mama and daddy red birds, sniffs the air waves. “Smoke?”

  Fucner laughs. “Fire.”

  Cody smiles and nods. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” chuckles with the other soldiers.

  He wobbles on the walking cane towards the captured audience of new assholes, rolling backwards the teacher chair away from table lip, not sitting. He stands in place of the chair, placing the folder on the surface. He scans the unfamiliar boys but slightly re
cognized faces from the personnel dossiers from the billionaire host of the Miss Starlit Pageant. He focuses on the asshole with the lit stinky cigar as the asshole also holds a small tumbler of alcohol. He leans into the table then raises the cane at the sign in the wall corner. “You didn’t see the ‘no smoking’ sign posted on the walls throughout the facility, solider.”

  Cody laughs. “He can’t read…”

  “Smells good to me,” chuckles Fucner.

  Cody laughs. “Can’t write, either.”

  “Looks good to see,” chuckles Fucner.

  Skippy frowns with annoyance. “Are you on meds, solider?”

  O’Hanlon sours and frowns touching two fingers to the cigar, not burning the tender pads. “One, you ain’t my sweet ass grayed haired southern mama. Two, this is my fucking hourly medication for everything. Three, I follow only my gawddamn commands when I feel like following my gawddamn commands,” inserts the cigar into his open mouth, slams his lips shut, inhales a big gulp then exhales by blowing a big round puff in the form of a circle for drama, then grins.

  Cody laughs. “Can’t curse either.”

  The male exhales leaning on the walking cane. “Good morning, I’m leader. I got three questions for ya’ll. Who in the hell’s gay?” he sees no visual hands. He feels relief for the moment until the truth trips over his cowboy boots as it kicks the asshole off the judge’s panel, hearing the solider chuckles. He says. “When was the last time ya got fucked no dates, hours or the number of whores?”

  Fucner tosses his hands, smiling and nodding. “Last night.”

  O’Hanlon nods. “This morning…”

  Cody chuckles, swinging to O’Hanlon. “Bullshit, O’honey…”

  Islander does not answer the question.

  He nods. “My third and final question has parts A and B. Part A, tell me something about true yourself so I can verify inside my flimsy paper folder eliminating your ass as a terrorist. Part B, what proper noun, not inappropriate verb do you want me to reference as your name while I’m commanding you here, since I’m the leader?”

  Fucner chuckles. “Do you always speak in fucking full twelfth grade Miss Smith’s English Literature sentences like William Shakespeare?”

  Alvin stands, not tall, clearing his throat. “I represent the Marine Core. I am Alvin Rupert Zorach. I am eighteen years old from the great state of Mississippi. I am the son of billionaire cattle rancher. I currently serve as a lowly private for the US military for the public relations division. My internal ambition is to become the governor of Mississippi. I am starting my profession career off with a bang. I co-saved a team of Navy Seals trapped in a valley in Afghan. Thank you, sir,” stands. The leader nods.

  O’Hanlon bangs the wheelchair then puffs a circle of smoke. “O’Hanlon Kirkwood, Coast Guard disabled with both legs and left arm, smokes cigars and drinks whiskey all the time and sweet talks girls into fucking me over and over again. Gemini is my astrological sign represents twins doing twin things with my ring of sex slaves. They call me O’ honey, O’ honey you’re great…,” chuckles with the other soldiers.

  Alvin exhales. “You are nothing but an O’hick lick,” chuckles.

  O’Hanlon sours. “My Irish surname is both precious and honored, my ‘ill little turd it’ hick person from Mississippi.”

  Cody fingers O’Hanlon, laughing. “That’s clever, illiterate…ill little turd it. I’ll chop it down to “turd it’ for fun, if’an I was you, Mississippian man.”

  Alvin views the teacher desk, growling. “I’m beginning to sharpen my knife for some kidney pie, O’hick lick?”

  O’Hanlon raises the wicked knife, sneering. “Man, I never sharpen my weapon when I got the bicep to bisect in one sucker punch into Bambi meat, ill little turd.”

  Fucner chuckles. “I be the hero of the Army, sir. I am Fucner, Rector Fucner. I be a fucking great love too ‘cause I love making fucking love to any female that I can find. I have a fucking lover on my right and another fucking lover on my left...”

  Cody laughs. “Bullshit, Fucner. My addictions, games and beer. I didn’t have sex slaves as an addiction like O’honey. Sex is a hobby, not addiction, man.”

  The male taps the cane on the teacher desk for attention. “I am Skippy, the brain, the professor, Rhodes Scholar, Navy jet fighter pilot, Tennessee redneck. I am very pleased to meet each of you, especially pleased to learn of O’Hanlon’s addictions, hobbies and introducing his new job, Miss Starlit pageant judge.”

  O’Hanlon smiles. “Yee-haw!”

  Skippy nods. “My rules, we ditch the military fatigues during the low key beauty competition wearing proper blue jeans and T-shirts, without profanely or I’ll drop your ass on the tile and rip the imported cotton fabrics off your back…”

  Fucner tosses his hands. “Ow, sounds fucking freaky, I’m willing to get it go. Do fucking me first, Skippy.”

  Skippy says. “Does every solider understand my command? Excellent,” nods and grins.

  Cody chuckles. “Girls like country boys with camouflage clothes and a southern deep draw.

  Skippy exhales. “You job today is to visual view each contestant as they appear on the television plasma behind my ass,” presses the button. A white screen drops from the ceiling. “This is one of many conference rooms inside the conference center which is owned by the city of Huntsville. The center is currently not really used since the building of the Von Brown Conference Center. Therefore we are being housed here to work. We represent the US military during the pageant activities. This is an international portion of the Starlit Pageant, because the owner of the Starlit Pageant moved it from London, England for money purposes…”

  “The entire world revolves around money.” Cody nods. “But we’re some of the judges here so we all vote for Miss USA to win the pageant. USA. USA,” cheers and smiles.

  Skippy raises the paper folders. “Thanks for your input, Cody. This paper folder contains one sheet of paper with all the countries of the world. There are hundred and six girls. You as judge will select the top fifteen females that you believe should win Miss Starlit two days from now. Cody, please hand out the paper and an ink pen. Please only select the whole number of fifteen, not fourteen, not eighteen, not ten. You can doodle on the back of the paper for your top number of girls then mark with a big blue X the fifteen females. This is the first stage, interviewing. Tomorrow, the second stage is wiggling their assets in swim suits and evening gowns. The final night on Wednesday is the crowning. We will dress in our US Federal Government issued military uniforms sitting behind the first row of judges. This pageant is televised all over the world so be good on Wednesday. The specific ugly reason, we’re housed in a dark room inside a dark building, because of a couple of naughty ass soldiers. And it ain’t me or Islander…,” chuckles with the soldiers. Fucner stands then circles, slapping his chest, smiling and nodding in silence. Then he sits. Skippy laughs. “The interview process will last for four hours…”

  Cody chuckles. “That’s only one minutes and twenty-two seconds of interview time for each…”

  Fucner nods and smiles. “Girls gossip and talk fasting then a blinking eyelash, Cody. That’s plenty of time to separate the girl from the woman, the innocent from the sexy, the princess from the queen,” grunts with the other soldiers.

  Skippy nods. “Fucner gave the command. Wait the television and select your favorite fifteen…”

  O’Hanlon frowns at the paper then views the screen. “How’s we supposed to grade the girls?”

  Cody rattles the paper, smiling. “I use the Goody to Baddy chart with a high grade of five stars for a quick slick interview response, sweet smile, and proper southern belle manners. No hanging boogers or stained tobacco teeth...,” chuckles.

  Fucner laughs. “Pretty good method, Cody, I pick Miss USA and the other fourteen biggest tits on the screen…”

  Cody frowns at the papers. “I see only the names of the countries of the world. There’re ain’t any stats of breast cups on the form,
Fucner.”

  “Kid, I don’t need numbers when I got eyeballs,” Fucner fingers his nose, laughing.

  Cody smiles. “How many pageants have you judged Skippy? What’s your standard grading method of beauty queens, sir?”

  Skippy smiles. “This is my first and only one, Cody. I use the cow grading system being a cow farmer in Tennessee. A grading system is valuable in the cow industry. It provides a common language with seeing the steer. There is three frame sizes and three muscle thickness,” chuckles with the soldiers. “Large, medium, and small are the nine possible combinations which allows me to weed out for ugliness, improper habits or unkindness,” chuckles. “A large frame cow is ugly, tall and long boned with no fat. A medium frame cow is moderate in height and ugliness. And a small frame cow is short and ugly. As a cow grows it appears changes like their ears decrease in size in relation to their head for telling the truth. Otherwise, big ears are untrustworthy. The muzzle becomes wider like the nose growing long and sharp like a blood-sucking vampire bat. The head becomes longer in relation to its fat ass brining out hostile intentions. And the tail increases in length for fibbing with a prominent eye twitch or two,” chuckles. “The degree of muscle thickness is directly related to unkindness. A thick muscle is full in arms, back, waist and legs, highly unkindness,” winks at Cody then chuckles. “A moderate muscle is narrower in forearm and ass, okay unkindness. A small muscle is a dairy cow which is very sweet and kind to all. The end.”

  O’Hanlon coughs then grins. “I give all the girls ten stars then I minus a star for the following ugly features. If she got a red nose like me and Rudolph the reindeer I minus one star…”

  Cody chuckles. “Your red nose is called rosacea, O’honey. It’s caused by red patches on the sensitive skin of the face sometimes with thick bumps a condition called rhinophyma. Rosacea is more common in males than female and genetics play a role. Ya can get doc treatment using burning lasers.”