Problems Aren’t Stop Signs

by Robert Mangeot

About the Author: Robert Mangeot lives in Nashville, Tennessee with his wife and cats. His short fiction appears here and there, including ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE, MYSTERY WEEKLY MAGAZINE, the MWA anthology ICE COLD, and the Anthony-winning MURDER UNDER THE OAKS. His work has been a Derringer Award finalist. When not writing, he can be found wandering the snack food aisles of America or France.

Excerpt

Jean-Baptiste always said problems weren’t stop signs. “Tori,” he’d said, “the only real problems are the government man and knowing the odds.” Well, I had brains double-barreled and style besides, which was why me and nobody else spotted the real estate opportunity in our corner of Panhandle. Spotted and pounced. But then non-genius intervened, as in the Army Corps of Engineers. They’d seen to it a simple-yet-elegant land flip pinballed down to me at Tate’s Last Gasp Pub and Package readying a skunk ape pitch. Somehow in this world it always fell to me to get every little thing right.

“Remember that go-getter Victoria?” these boys at Tate’s should’ve been saying. They should’ve sung my laurels instead of watching Florida State on prime time invent a new way to lose. These boys should’ve backslapped each other, claim they’d had flirtations and hook-ups with me, the Gossamer girl struck gold. Dream on, boys. I would be living large in Pensacola, a condo with Spanish balconies and a walk-in closet for shoes and a bigger one for my jewelry and beads.

I ordered another Abita. As mayor, I had to push the media angle, spread word about the Wild Man of Gossamer Woods. Except Crevette with The Journal was running behind. What grade of moron kept waiting a lady half his old-fart age and obviously out of his league? Nobody with brains or drive.

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