Steven M Forman
Left Corner


meet the author


media & events

purchase books

Meet the Author      

Boca Mournings excerpt


I should have known not to take my eyes off an uncaged wild animal. Buford lunged across the conference table and his thick fingers were around my throat in an instant. His thumbs pressed into my windpipe and I knew I was in serious trouble. I saw Chief Burke go after Buford but I couldn’t wait. I reached for the full pitcher of water on the table, grabbed it by the handle, and crashed it down on top of Buford’s head. The pitcher shattered and Buford crashed face-first onto the table. Glass and water flew through the air, and blood began to seep from the gash on Buford’s head. Mrs. Buford screamed.

Frank Burke grabbed my wrist and held out his other hand. “Gimme that damned thing,” he growled.

I handed him the handle. “I’m sorry Frank,” I said calmly. “Did you want some water?”

Forrest Buford was taken to the Boca Community Hospital in the backseat of a police car. I waved good-bye and gave him the finger.

“Nasty cut,” I said to Burke as we returned to the conference room.

“At least ten stitches,” the chief said, looking at the mess.

“Twenty,” I predicted.

“Why the water pitcher, Eddie,” Frank said, upset with me. “You could have killed him. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, Frank,” I said, rubbing my neck and sitting down. “The oxygen to my brain was shut off. So I guess this means the meeting is over.”

“Mrs. Buford is still here. She’s in the ladies’ room washing the blood off her hands.”

“Nazis do that a lot,” I said.

The door opened, and a small, mousy-looking, middle aged woman entered carrying a mop and bucket. She had two outstanding features; two large, protruding breasts and four large, protruding teeth. I noticed the teeth first while Mr. Johnson took the low road as usual.

The woman was followed by a janitor in a gray uniform, who carried a push broom and a dustpan. The woman was dressed in blue slacks and a neat blue-striped shirt buttoned to the collar. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, accentuating her black-rimmed glasses, perched on her pointy nose. I thought of a chipmunk.




Privacy policy Palley Advertising
Home | Meet the Author | Books | Media and Events | Purchase Books
Reviews | Read an Excerpt | Quotes | Contact