The Flip Read online

  The Flip

  By

  Michael Phillip Cash

  Copyright © 2014 by Michael Phillip Cash

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1497345510

  ISBN 13: 978-1497345515

  What critics are saying about Michael Phillip Cash’s work:

  Brood X: A Firsthand Account of the Great Cicada Invasion

  Reviews

  "Part satiric take on contemporary yuppie expectations...part anatomization of contemporary marriage...part creature-feature with all of the traditional elements of the great 50s films...part homage to the fairly recent genre of found-footage horror films--Brood X is a quick, fun read." - Michael R. Collings - hellnotes.com

  "...a Twilight Zone-like horror story of biblical proportions." - Mark McLaughlin - ForeWord Reviews

  "...horror at its best...up close and personal, and inflicted with ways that address humanity's inherent fear of and disgust for bugs." - Mark McLaughlin - ForeWord Reviews

  "breathing new life into a genre that has been occupied too long by the usual suspects: sickness, the undead and global warming." - Kirkus Reviews

  Brood X- 1st Place Winner Mystery/Thriller Rebecca’s Reads Readers Choice Awards

  Brood X-Winner Readers Views Literary Awards 2013

  Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island

  Reviews

  "Cash easily draws readers into the story by creating three-dimensional characters who are easy to care about." - ForeWord Reviews

  "With strong characters and a twist unexpected in a thriller, this book is an enjoyable beach read." - ForeWord Reviews

  "A horror tale with well-developed characters..." - Kirkus Review

  "I do not see what would stop Michael Phillip Cash's horror masterpiece from becoming a bestseller." - pjtheemt.blogspot.com

  ForeWord Reviews

  2013 Book of the Year Award

  Finalist

  Horror

  Stillwell won honorable mention for General Fiction in the Rebecca's Reads Choice Awards 2013!

  The Hanging Tree- A Novella

  Reviews

  "This fast paced novella, easily read in one sitting, spins a tale of woe dating back to 1649, when a woman wrongly accused of witchcraft curses the reverend who sentenced her to death. As the years roll by, a number of his descendants fall victim to the curse and find themselves inhabitants of the hanging tree. The story's greatest strengths are its pacing and structure: Each short chapter develops an individual victim's back story piece by piece, leaving readers in constant, eager anticipation..." - Kirkus Reviews

  "A short but mesmerizing tale, this spine tingling test of the human spirit quite literally takes on the ghosts of our ancestors in an attempt to neutralize their mistakes." - ForeWord Review

  ForeWord Reviews

  2013 Book of the Year Award

  Finalist

  Horror

  Schism The Battle for Darracia

  Reviews

  "The writing is smooth and builds nicely; creating an engaging tale with a big bang ending that leaves you thankful it is the beginning of a series. Definitely recommended for fans of dystopian novels in want of a fast page-turning read." - The Children's Book Review

  "This coming-of-age fantasy novel with a subtle sci-fi backdrop follows a half-breed prince who's forced to embrace his unique identity when his intolerant uncle - vehemently set against a looming peace accord between antagonistic races - attempts to usurp his father's throne...the briskly paced storyline features a cast of well-developed characters... Well-written...a solid foundation for what could be an excellent series." - Kirkus Review

  "...a fast-paced novel that will appeal to lovers of science fiction and fantasy. Set on an alien planet, this is a story about social equality and the struggles faced by those seeking great change....The author has crafted a complex society with a well-defined class system facing a political struggle for social equality. This is the first installment of a planned series, and Cash does a fine job laying the groundwork for future books. Schism is a quick, pleasurable read that is sure to entertain." - ForeWord Reviews

  ForeWord Reviews

  2013 Book of the Year Award

  Finalist

  Science Fiction

  Winner 2nd Place for Science Fiction from Rebecca's Reads Choice Awards 2013!

  Collision: The Battle for Darracia (Book II)

  Reviews

  "Collision is an entertaining novel that continues the story of V'sair and his struggle to unite the races on the planet of Darracia. Packed with action, political intrigue, love, and betrayal, Michael Phillip Cash's book will appeal to a wide audience, particularly fans of science fiction." - ForeWord Review

  "Collision is a complex, spanning multiple worlds with their own economies, mythologies, and customs. The descriptions are delightful and vivid, painting clear pictures that help to define both the characters and their worlds." - ForeWord Review

  Dedication

  To my grandparents

  I can’t see you but I know you are always there.

  All along the untrodden paths of the future, I can see the footprints of an unseen hand.

  - Boyle Roche

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  “I hate this place,” Brad grumbled, as he shoved another piece of crap into the superthick black garbage bag. The basement smelled like shit, and here he was, alone on his birthday and shoveling hundred-year-old junk from a dank cellar. This had to be the worst flip they’d ever attempted. He gave the creaky stairs a gimlet-eyed glance and for a nanosecond hated Julie. Really hated her and her cockamamie ideas. Where did that idea of hate come from? he wondered. He loved his wife, didn’t he?

  “It has so much charm,” she’d cooed every time they discussed the place. And then, last night, she’d sprung it on him. “Let’s keep it.”

  “Over my dead body,” he told the decaying piles of newspaper. Once they finished this job and paid their bills, he had some thinking to do. She picked the homes, went back to her tidy little job in the city, and left him to muck around in the garbage. He couldn’t see himself doing this for the next twenty years, not anymore. Not after this dump. It wasn’t that he was afraid of work, or even plain old elbow grease. There was something about this project that turned him off. From the moment he entered the house, his skin crawled, and he found himself unaccountably angered by Julie and her insistence that they buy this place. It was as though his opinions didn’t count, and she made him feel like a hired hand instead of her partner.

  He poked his shovel into the corner; then, satisfied nothing lived there, dug deep into someone’s discarded life to make room for the next person to live in the house.

  “Want to have some fun?” It was the faintest whisper, very feminine, spectral, and light; it danced on the breeze made by the cheap fan he had put down there to circulate the fetid air. Brad didn’t hear it—maybe a light tickle around the shell of his ear—but someone else did.

  “He is a handsome one,” the female voice said, continuing the conversation.

  “Don’
t start that again. I don’t want them here. They are an intrusion. Look what he’s doing,” a male voice replied, and took on a menacing growl.

  Brad stopped, a sudden chill making the hairs on his arm stand up. He wiped the sweat from his brow and shuddered. His gray eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. Satisfied, he shrugged and removed a rubber band from the pocket of his jeans to make a ponytail. He had long light-brown hair that tended to bleach itself blond in the sun. It was just long enough to graze his shoulders. It drove his father-in-law crazy, and he liked that, he thought with a smile.

  “I can wipe that smile off his face in a second,” the frustrated male said.

  “Stop!” An elegant hand stayed him. “Really, stop, Gerald. I like him.” It was obvious Tessa liked him. She couldn’t take her eyes off his body. She swirled around him. Gerald hated her sighs of delight. Gerald called her name but was ignored, his fury growing when Tessa swiped her hand down the intruder’s backside. The man straightened, looked stupidly around, and then went back to his incessant shoveling.

  “Well, I don’t! You always like them, especially when they are male.” With that, a small whirlpool of air eddied into a mini tornado, stirring up the neat piles Brad had created.

  Brad jumped back as papers flew around the room. “What the…?” He stared, his mouth open, blinking his eyes. The papers floated gracefully to land in a new mess at his booted feet. He turned to look at the fan, docilely rotating right, then left, and then back to the new mess. “What was that?” he asked no one in particular, eyeing the stairs with a venomous glare once again. He felt itchy under his own skin, his anger bubbling through his veins. Never short-tempered, the feeling irritated him, making him cranky and uncomfortable. Rolling his shoulders, he picked up a broom, leaning against a wall, to push the mess forcefully into a pile. Yep, he and Julie were going to have a little talk, and that talk was going to be tonight.

  Chapter 1

  Julie hung up the phone with a satisfied snap. This would make her boss happy. She had collected on an old debt, one the firm had given up on. That was her charm, her boss often told her: she was as tenacious as a terrier. She wasn’t quite sure if that was a compliment or not, being compared to a dog, but she’d take it. The job was, well, OK. She thought that her boss believed he paid her enough, but that was open for discussion as far as she was concerned. She had been there since graduating college. After majoring in psychology, there wasn’t much she could find out in the workplace, so she stayed. She had started as the receptionist, then moved to DocStar, filing boring information all day, and now she had settled into the collection department, doubling as an assistant to the boss. Oh, he had a secretary—she had been with him for over twenty years—but they gave the grunt work to Julie. She wondered who was crankier: Mr. Wilson, her boss, or Joanne, his right hand. The older woman had iron-gray hair to match an iron spine, and every so often, Julie wanted to ask if she removed the rod up her ass when she went to sleep at night.

  She owed Mr. Wilson a lot. When she had entered the flipping business, he arranged for her first loans. He liked her ambition, he told her. He respected the fact that she was willing to work at her small business on the weekends. Mr. Wilson supported free enterprise, as long as it didn’t interfere with Julie’s day job. While he hadn’t given her a raise in eight years, doing this side business had enabled her to make up the difference. It had started with a condo in Rego Park. It was a foreclosure Mr. Wilson had told her about. She bought it, resurfaced the kitchen, cleaned up the cat shit, and sold it, making herself a clean $15,000. Flipping was easy. Buy a house that needed some lipstick, clean it up, and sell it, making a small amount of money for the next one. The collapsed economy was a perfect excuse for her boss to freeze her salary, but he had made up for it when he found a second property for her and set Julie up with a decent contractor. When she met Brad, they eighty-sixed the hired help and did the work themselves.

  Getting ahead was tough, but doing this side venture made her a little independent. Each flip was still a struggle. One mistake, such as wood rot she wasn’t prepared for or hidden problems missed on the primary inspections, could throw her whole bottom line out the window. Julie didn’t have a big war chest, as her father called it. In other words, she had very little in reserve. Each job represented a hard-earned profit that enabled her to invest in another property right after. Still, she had trouble landing funds. The whole banking industry was a mess after the mortgage meltdown. They were so careful with whom they did business, making borrowing money very difficult. She had no assets, nothing to secure for a big credit line to purchase the houses. Mr. Wilson not only cosigned for her, but he also pushed the bank to give her more credit. He was the bank’s biggest customer and had enough clout there to bully them around. And one thing was certain: Mr. Wilson was a bully. Brad didn’t like her boss. Lately, it seemed that Brad didn’t like anything connected to her.

  She frowned, new worry lines creasing the smooth skin of her brow. She was pretty, not beautiful. Cute, perky, with long brown hair kissed by the sun, a swinging body toned with hours of yoga, and merry green eyes. The people who liked her said she was a go-getter; the ones who didn’t said she had a type A personality. Brad told her he liked her drive, found her inspiring, and enjoyed their chemistry. His laconic attitude tempered her impulsiveness. Their fundamental differences enhanced each other, creating a perfect balance. Holding up her wedding photo, she stared wistfully at the tanned couple. They looked perfect together. He was wearing a slick white dinner jacket with black tuxedo pants. She wore a Calvin Klein slip of a dress. They were both barefoot and ankle-deep in the sands of a Dominican Republic beach. The wind had snatched her veil. Brad’s arms were protectively around her when the photographer had snapped a classic black-and-white shot of them on the beach. She loved that picture; it summed up the simplicity of her relationship with Brad. It was black and white, no bullshit, founded in love, rooted in respect, and a whole lot of fun. In other words, it was bliss. They looked like a couple from a high-end perfume advertisement, everybody always said.

  Theirs had been a wonderful storybook courtship. Boy meets girl, instant attraction, destination: wedding. They had met at one of those Match.com mixers and hit it off immediately. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t taken. He had shoulders that filled a room, as well as a personality to match. He had just left the army after two tours in Afghanistan, and compared to the guys she normally dated, he was the real deal. Kind, polite, and ever so gallant, it didn’t take her long to let every rule fall by the wayside and allow herself to commit early. If only he could find something he liked to do. After his discharge, he drove a limo on the weekends while he attended a community college. She knew he disliked it, and after they dated a bit, she had talked him into flipping houses with her. They had split the cost of three houses, small tract homes in Levittown, nothing so big that they could get hurt.

  Julie did all the legwork. She had loads of time to do that in the office and evenings. The Internet was her best friend, making it easy for her to do research on what they needed. Brad was a worker. There was nothing he wouldn’t try to do. He wasn’t in love with the work—sometimes she felt guilty knowing he was hip-deep in hoarder hell, shoveling accumulated crap into a rented Dumpster. He fumigated homes, was the resident rat catcher, cleaned the toxic bathrooms. Brad never complained, but she could see the resigned look on his face when he began to tackle a new purchase. He had this vast store of common sense on how to fix things like broken outlets or stubborn plumbing. He could take a few tools and tinker with problems, finding ways for them to save money by rescuing projects others would just discard. He was the most patient person she had ever met. It seemed that was when he was happiest, taking a lost cause and using his skill to restore and reuse. His Yankee ingenuity had doubled their profits. Where Julie saw garbage or a jumble of wires, Brad saw a challenge to bring it back to life. Brad wasted nothing. He cleaned the houses, carted out the junk, and sold what they could salvage, th
en hung drywall, put in bathrooms with an army buddy, and one time even did a wooden planked floor. He was meticulous, taking his time while she constantly reminded him they were under the gun to do the job quickly.

  Did they clash? Not really. He would give a lazy grin when Julie went off on a rant. It didn’t take long for her to lose steam, distracted by his charming smile and smoky eyes. Brad knew exactly how to defuse her energy, making her forget timetables and deadlines; she learned that things got done when they got done and that bottom lines could be adjusted. They had turned a tidy profit, and he had proposed in the last house. Julie’s eyes filled while she remembered how he had prepared a path of rose petals and illuminated the empty living room with dozens of glowing tea lights. He had set up a small bridge table and prepared a feast of lobsters from his native Maine, along with all the other goodies that come with a clambake. The ring was small but oh so beautiful—an antique Edwardian with tiny sapphires surrounding a small rose-cut diamond. She loved that ring, and when he went down on one knee, she launched herself onto his deep chest, vowing never to leave. Julie shivered in her seat, her face flushed, her lips tingling, thinking of Brad and the wicked way he told her how much he loved her. Her brows drew together as her lips pursed. It had been a long time since he’d done those things to her. Somehow, they collapsed every night lately, back to back, too tired for anything else. She had heard of a seven-year slump, but after two years, it didn’t feel right. If only he’d find a job that excited him; if only they could make a great sale and triple their money; if only they could move into that amazing Victorian off Bedlam Street in Cold Spring Harbor they had just purchased. It was so beautiful, resting atop an outcropping of rocks, overlooking the crescent-shaped bay. Julie’s pencil snapped in two; she hadn’t realized she’d been gripping it so tightly.

  The phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. Mr. Wilson’s curt voice came through the receiver. “Get me the Shapiro file.”