Jenna's Journey Read online

Sally watched as Bert stepped off the stage, away from the large green screen he used for weather reports and over to the side.

  "Do you think anyone will pay attention to your report?" she asked.

  Bert struggled to get the little clip on mic off his lapel.

  "I hope so. The problem is, I don't think they will. Most people around here are more concerned with quakes than tornadoes. That's midwest nonsense. We specialize in shake, rattle and roll, not twist and spin."

  Sally laughed.

  "They're both legitimate dance moves," she chided.

  Bert smirked.

  "Oh har, har," he quipped.

  Just then the shift producer sprinted into the room, a look of panic on her face.

  "Get that mic back on! That storm just started spawning tornadoes!" she said.

  "What!?" said Bert in surprise.

  "Yeah, I just got a report from one of our field crews that it's gutting a couple suburbs in Chatsworth heading south towards US 101 and the Topanga State Park."

  Bert's head immediately snapped around to one of the monitors in the studio that showed the regional radar, and was aghast to see that the storm had not only rapidly intensified, but was already spawning tornadoes.

  "Lord have mercy," he said.

  The Foreclosure

  The senior loan manager for Shark's Loans, an unfortunately named mortgage lender that serviced the entire Los Angeles metroplex, looked up from his desk as one of his assistants leaned in the door.

  "Sir, the Bakers are here to speak with you about their loan," said the assistant.

  The manager groaned.

  "Fine, I'll be right out there," he muttered. He then shook his head, and said, "I don't know why they keep trying. Nothing they do will save their house."

  "Should I tell them that, sir?"

  "No, I need to tell them in person. Maybe then they'll finally get the message. Tell them I'll be right out."

  "Yes, sir," said the assistant as he turned and left.

  Less than a minute later another employee came in and tossed down a pile of folders on his desk. He looked at the employee curiously.

  "What are these?" he asked.

  "All the foreclosures for this week, twenty six in total. The courts just finished them up this morning. Every one of these properties is officially ours now."

  The manager smiled and snorted gleefully.

  "Finally. Anyone been evicted yet?"

  "No, sir. We were waiting on the paperwork from the courts before we began."

  "Well, then get to it, son! Get those houses cleared and on the market as fast as possible! I want my money!"

  "Yes, sir."

  As the employee was leaving, the manager began flipping through the folders on his desk one by one, both in the new pile and the older ones as well, until he found one labeled "Baker". A devilish, evil grin crossed his face.

  "There we go. Perhaps this will shut them up once and for all."

  He gathered up his paperwork and made his way out of the office and over to the desk of one of his employees where a young couple sat, their two children surrounding them, as they waited anxiously for news about the fate of their home. The manager walked up to the desk, shooed the employee aside and then sat down, a look of dark satisfaction growing in his eyes as the color seemed to drain from the faces of the distraught couple before him.

  "Mr. and Mrs Baker," he began.

  "Tell us! Please tell us if we still have the house!" sobbed the woman.

  The already demonic grin on the manager's face seemed to grow even more evil.

  "You do not," said the manager with dark satisfaction.

  "But we can pay! Please! Just give us time! I'm starting a new job next week, and..." began the husband.

  "Sir," said the manager, cutting him off, "I'm afraid to inform you, but your house has been foreclosed on. The agreement was that you make all of your payments on time and in their full amount, and if you couldn't, then the house would return to the possession of the bank. As it stands, you've failed repeatedly to pay your mortgage for the past six months, and as such your house now belongs to us."

  A look of fear and trepidation washed over the faces of the young couple.

  "But what will we do!? Where will we go!?" asked the husband.

  The manager gave a cold, mute, uncaring, narrow eyed look of disdain.

  "To be honest, sir, I don't care. That's not my problem. Now, as this house has become a bank owned property, you have twenty four hours to vacate or we will come and remove you by force, and if we do, you will be arrested and thrown in jail for trespassing, and your possessions taken to the dump, never to be seen again. Now leave this building, pack your things, and get off my land!"

  The couple stared at the manager, devastated by what they'd just heard. Three years earlier, he and his associates had been so kind, accommodating, and willing to help the couple get into their first home. But now that they were no longer able to pay it was an entirely different story. The couple got up quietly, took their things and made their way out of the building. The manager watched them go with gleeful disdain and almost felt like cackling manically. He wisely chose not to.

  People had always told the Bakers that bankers were evil people. But never before had they seen such cruelty from a money lender. In many ways the rather unfortunate name of the bank, one "Shark's Loans", fit the institution ever so aptly down to the very last speck of dust. But just as the manager was about to get up and head to his office another associate strolled up to him.

  "Sir, I've got another lady here who wishes to speak with you about her mortgage. Apparently she's in foreclosure too," said the employee.

  "Do you have the file?" asked the manager flatly.

  "Right here, sir."

  A demonic, almost seditious grin grew across the manager's face.

  "Well then, let me go get her file, and then I shall speak at length with the young lady. It will give me the opportunity to ruthlessly crush the hopes and dreams of yet another now former client of ours."

  The employee frowned slightly.

  "You enjoy doing this, don't you?" he muttered.

  "With every inch of my body," said the manager with devilish glee.

  The loan manager looked up as one of his assistants came running in the door.

  "Sir, the news is reporting that a tornado is leveling a large swath of Chatsworth!" he cried.

  The manager looked up in disbelief.

  "A tornado!? We don't get tornadoes out here!"

  "Trust me, come look!" insisted the man.

  The manager stepped out of his office and was surprised to find a large number of customers and all but two tellers huddled around the TV watching live coverage of an unfolding disaster in downtown Los Angeles. At first he couldn't figure out why everyone was so worked up about it. Those houses weren't his problem. But just as he was about to leave he caught sight of a street sign that seemed all too familiar. He squinted carefully, trying to get a better look at what he was seeing. Just then the screen flashed to a map of the area being affected. The color drained from his face as he realized the streets and cross streets that were being devastated by this storm. It was the same area that they'd just completed a sweeping series of foreclosures in. Now, much to his dismay, he was watching all that hard work turned to splinters.

  "No, no, no, no, NO!" he cried as he ran for the back door.

  "Where are you doing?" asked one of the supervisors.

  But the manager said nothing. He merely jumped into his car and raced across town to where the tornado was ravaging neighborhood after neighborhood. But by the time he arrived the storm had completely dissipated and the skies were once again clear. However, the entire neighborhood that'd only recently become the property of his bank, no longer existed. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. Just as he was looking on in dismay at this, uncertain of what to do next, a cop walked up next to him.

  "Got a home in there, buddy?" he asked.

  The manager turned and looked at the cop in confusion for a moment, and then regained his composure, albeit barely.

  "I work with Shark's Loans and we owned that neighborhood. All those house are...well, were ours," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

  The cop shook his head slightly.

  "Darned shame if you ask me," he replied.

  Just then something struck him.

  "Wait, did you say Shark's Loans?"

  "Yeah, that's the company I work for. I'm the loan manager."

  A knowing, almost devious grin grew across the cop's face.

  "Is that so? Well, then I guess you won't be screwing over anyone anymore. Not after the losses you'll take from this. OH, and by the way. Just so you know, since these properties are now yours, you're responsible for cleaning up this mess. Now get to work before I have to start fining you for littering."

  The manager looked at the cop in shock.

  "How am I responsible for this!?" he screamed.

  "Your property, your problem. Not get cleaning."

  The manager growled slightly.

  "This is so not my day," he moaned.

  The Golden Ticket

  Gert, a wealthy old businessman of nearly sixty years, strolled slowly out of the grocery store and across the parking lot towards his brand new SUV. It wasn't a big store, and neither was the town. In fact, it was surprisingly small for a city so close to Omaha and not that far north of Interstate 80. Even so it was a quaint little town, with some big city benefits, but a small town feel. As he strolled up to his SUV, a brand new, light silvery gray Cadillac Escalade, the lights of the parking lot flickered on as darkness began to settle in over the city. It wouldn't be but another twenty minutes before t
he sun would officially set for the day and darkness would begin to overtake the city. And if he didn't hurry up, he'd be late getting to his evening meeting with two potentially new and lucrative clients.

  He strolled slowly up to the door of his SUV and set his bags on the ground. Even though the Super Saver, a local discount store, was more or less a poor man's grocery, he still loved to shop there. Especially for the prices. Just because he was rich didn't mean he was against saving a buck or two wherever he could. As he pulled his keys out of his pocket, a hint of green on his front windshield caught his eye. He paused for a moment and leaned to his left just enough to see what it was. There, much to his surprise, was a brand new, crisp, uncirculated $100 bill. The sharp and age savvy old man cocked an eyebrow slightly and then slowly slid his keys back into his pocket as his head began a slow, careful scan of the parking lot around him.

  He'd heard about things like this before. In fact, one of his friends up in Lincoln had fallen prey to it once before, causing him to lose a brand new Chevy Tahoe to a couple of big city thugs who'd pulled the same scam. The trick was simple. Place a $100 bill in the wiper of the victim's car, and when they got out to take it from the windshield, one of the thieves would race up and make off with the car. Gert wasn't about to let that happen to him. He continued to carefully study the parking lot, half expecting to see armed thugs storming towards him at any moment ready to beat him within an inch of his life in order to steal his SUV and sell it on the black market.

  But to his surprise, he didn't see anyone moving. Even so, as his one hand was firmly securing his keys in his pocket again his other was pulling his cell phone out of his suit pocket. A few pecks later he'd dialed 911. He wasn't about to become a victim, nor let anyone else be one either. Just then his eyes, still sharp and clear despite his advanced years, caught sight of an older model Pontiac sitting one row over and several cars down from him. Two young me, one Latino, the other a dark skinned, glared back at him. Apparently they weren't too fond of the idea that he'd caught onto them. Even worse, he was now on the phone, likely calling the police.

  "911, what's your emergency?" came a voice in his ear.

  "Yes, my name is Gert, and I'm down here at the Super Saver on 2nd street and I've got a pair of thugs in a late model green Pontiac attempting to do a car jacking on me," he replied.

  The operator seemed a bit surprised at this.

  "Are they physically threatening you or trying to assault you, sir?"

  "No, but they're eying my Escalade like a gigantic slab of meat. They left a crisp hundred on my windshield in an attempt to steal my car, and don't seem all that pleased that I caught onto their scheme," he replied.

  He then smiled and waved at the two men who in turn flipped him off, started their car and began to pull away. Gert then proceeded to read off their plate to the operator.

  "Yeah, they're just starting to leave, although they don't seem to be in a big hurry. They might be waiting for another opportunity to strike someone else," he continued.

  "Alright, sir. We'll handle this. If you're not already in your vehicle, please get inside, lock your doors and wait for further instructions," said the operator.

  "Nah, I don't think they're a threat to me anymore, but you'll want to bag them before they can go and hit someone else."

  "Alright, sir. But please stay in the area so that if the officers need help identifying the vehicle they can ask you for information."

  "I wish I could, but I've got a meeting I need to get to. If they have any questions you've got my number. Just ring me up and I'll be glad to help out."

  "Alright then, sir, be safe."

  Gert closed his phone and stuck it in his pocket. He then eyed the crisp $100 bill pinned under his wiper blade and wondered what to do with it. Given his vast fortune it wasn't like he wanted or even needed another one of them in his wallet. For him something like that was pocket change. Yet he didn't want to just randomly leave it behind. His eyes then wandered past the front of his SUV and caught sight of a car, and a fairly old one at that which had certainly seen better days, parked in front of him. Immediately an idea struck him. While he didn't need the extra money, the owner of that car almost certainly did.

  So he reached into his wallet and took out two more crisp $100 bills and added them to the one that was on his windshield. He then clipped them under the wiper of the car, climbed into his SUV, and drove off. Not more than a block away Gert passed a group of three police cars and the late model Pontiac he'd seen earlier. Two men were splayed across its hood in handcuffs being read their rights. He chuckled lightly to himself.

  "Crime doesn't pay, does it, boys?"

  He then headed down the street to his meeting hoping that, whoever got the money, that it would be used for a good cause. Just then he smacked himself on the forehead in an expression of self chastisement.

  "Augh! And then I went and forgot the mustard again!"

  The Sleeper

  Benny, a long time police veteran, was out on the local interstate doing his normal afternoon patrols when he spotted something unusual about the vehicle in front of him. It wasn't the fact that the vehicle had clearly seen far too many hours on the road. But rather it was the way the driver's side rear wheel appeared to be wobbling back and forth like it was ready to come off. Wanting to intervene before anything bad happened he lit up the car, his lights and siren screaming as he signaled for the driver to pull over. But before either car knew what'd happened the left rear wheel well exploded, sending the tire, metal bits, sparks and a whole shower of other things spraying all over the road.

  Benny instinctively swerved to miss the cloud of debris in front of him as the car began to disintegrate in front of him. He then watched in horror as the car skid wildly across the road and into the center median. It soon collided head on with a guard rail which ripped the bottom out of the car and sent it flying high into the air. Benny's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he watched what he thought would almost certainly be a fatal accident unfolding in front of him. But much to his relief and surprise the car landed in the upright position and soon came to a full stop.

  It was badly mangled and shredded, but still amazingly intact. Well, mostly. If there was one thing he had to admit he liked about the older cars is that they were built like tanks and could take a beating. And this one was no exception, thankfully. He immediately pulled to the side of the road and got on the radio to home base.

  "Dispatch, this is 405, I've got a 10-51 at mile marker 233 eastbound. Need a wrecker, ambulance and fire immediately. Possible multiple casualties."

  "Roger, 405. Dispatching resources immediately," came the reply.

  Benny then carefully pulled out into the debris strewn highway, placing his car into the path of oncoming traffic to prevent anyone else from passing through until he'd had a chance to deal with the accident and cleanup the mess it'd left behind. He then got out of his cruiser and hurried over to where the car now dangled awkwardly on the shattered guard rail and expected to find the worst. But as he approached the driver's side of the car, he found a woman and her two children standing there staring at the wreck in surprise. This made his blood boil. The accident wasn't even a minute old and rubberneckers were already on the scene gawking like "a bunch of over stuff monkeys" as he liked to say.

  "Excuse me, ma'am, but you'll have to step back! I need to get to the passengers in this car," he barked.

  "Um, we are the passengers. That's our car," said the woman.

  The officer looked at them like they were nuts and then shooed them to the side as he made his way over to the driver's side front and rear doors which he found, much to his surprise, open and the occupants gone. He then looked at the woman and her two kids, then the car, the woman, and finally the car. He scratched his head in utter amazement.

  He pointed a thumb at the vehicle, and asked, "This is your car!?"

  "Yes, officer. That's ours. Or what's left of it."

  Benny tilted his head back slightly and scratched his head. By all rights, given the condition of the vehicle, they should've had at least a few cuts and bruises. Yet there they stood without so much as a scratch on them.

  "Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked after a few moments.

  "We're fine," she replied.

  Just then the echo of sirens could be heard in the distance.

  "Alright, stay right there, ma'am. I want the ambulance to check you out before we do anything else."

  The woman nodded. About a minute later a fire truck, an ambulance, and two more patrol cars pulled up to the accident, they too expecting the worse, and headed immediately over to the car to deal with what they felt would almost certainly be a messy situation. They too even shooed the woman and her kids away just like Officer Benny had, thinking they were just nosy rubberneckers. And in the same way as the officer, they too were just as shocked that the three passengers were completely unharmed.

  "But...but, how!? Nobody should've walked away from that in one piece!" protested one of the firemen.

  "Divine intervention. It's the only explanation," said another.

  "Wow, talk about guardian angels," said yet another fireman.

  "Alright, ma'am," said one of the officers. "Come on over here and we'll get you checked out."

  The woman and her two children followed him over to the ambulance while the second officer walked up to the car and inspected it. He shook his head.

  "The only thing that saved their bacon was that this car is a tank! Given the damage this could have ended a lot worse, but the car thankfully took all the abuse."

  Benny nodded.

  "Yeah, but I think I'm gonna agree more with that firefighter. This was God in every m
easure of the word. There's no way she could've walked away from this had it not been for Him protecting her."

  The other cop snorted.

  "Believe your religious nonsense all you want. I say she lucked out."

  Benny looked back at the woman briefly, and the happy looks on the faces of the paramedics, and then back at the other officer.

  "Not me. This was a God thing."

  He then walked over to the woman and checked up on her.

  "What's the prognosis?" he asked.

  "There's not a blessed thing wrong with any of them. Not even a bruise," said one of the paramedics.

  "That's good to hear."

  "But what do I do now? I'm thankful we survived. But now I have no car and no way to get where I'm going," said the woman.

  "Where you headed to?"

  "Michigan."

  "Where in Michigan?"

  The woman shrugged.

  "God hasn't told me yet."

  Benny cocked an eyebrow slightly, but didn't argue the point. Especially after what he'd just seen.

  "Alright, tell ya what. I'm not sure what I can do for you on that part, but we'll at least get you into town and then we'll let the garage decide what needs to happen from there. Hopefully they can get you on your way again."

  The woman nodded.

  "Okay. Thank you," she replied.