It's 9AM

Are you doing what you love?

It is a season of rebooting.

There are reboots of tv shows, reboots of movies.

Rereleases and resurgences, and renewals of things one more time around.

True Lies the movie is now a really bad TV show.

Avatar the Air Bender is still an Air Bender, just different now.

And Harry Potter is taking the Reacher route and becoming a 7 or 8 year television series.

Both of which I applaud and think are brilliant ideas worthy of exploration.

I guess, like most things, it depends on execution.

Someone told me how you do one thing is how you do everything.

Which I don’t think is true.

I know what she meant by it, that if you pay attention to little details, the big details get taken care of.

Except I think that might be one of those adages that sound wise and on the verge of pretentious.

But fall short when the rubber meets the road.

A lot of people go to work, but don’t love it.

So they put in an average amount of effort.

When I was speaking to a group of my colleagues back in my Corporate Days, I would use the fishing analogy.

One of our guys was constantly five or ten minutes late.

It drove a VP crazy who had the theory that if you were on time, you were late because ten minutes early was on time.

I had a lazier approach to time clock management, which was hit your eight (nine with lunch) sometime between sunrise and sunset and we were good.

Even better if you hit your daily metrics and goals sometime before lunch, then I didn’t have to run a monitoring report at all.

Because yes, Corporations think that the only way to make people productive is to watch their time and measure their metrics and always try to make them better.

But I would talk in big group settings about how a man who loved to fish was late for work every day, yet on Saturday and Sunday mornings, he was up at 4:00 am and on the water by 5:00.

He loved fishing.

He didn’t love work.

I said it better then.

Probably using my hands to gesture and get everyone involved with eye contact.

I was talking to them about passion and though this particular job may not be one that they love, they should do something every day that the do.

Love.

One of my more salacious employees said she had a passion for making love every day.

I laughed. We all laughed.

I got to go to HR for that one because you can’t laugh in public settings because it might encourage employees and comments like that make some people uncomfortable.

Sigh.

Corporations.

I told them that what we do doesn’t have to be our passion, but what we were doing might be.

Because what we did was sit in an office and work the phones and computers to reach out to veterans and active duty service members who called us or requested information.

What we were doing is giving them a chance to finish an education, which gave them an opportunity for promotion and a pay increase.

And what it cost them was nothing, because of the way we structured it with the Dept of Education and Dept of Defense.

Our passion was helping.

And the team got it.

Why wouldn’t they? They were vets themselves.

They understood the difference it could make.

Even Mr. ten minutes late, who was one of the best at it, knew that what mattered most was doing the work.

Not the timing of it.

The execution of it.

Every week, I would meet with the team to discuss whatever metric the VP zeroed in on, and start with the only metric that mattered.

The Why.

Why we did what we did.

And I think about that now as I send this to you, and then head to a warehouse job where my boss is twenty two and trying to give me life lessons on working.

We made a difference and every day we executed on things that mattered.

Things that changed other people’s lives.

I don’t miss the corporate BS, or presenting to Boardrooms or listening to Generals discuss the value or lack of value for education.

What I miss are the people I worked with day in, day out.

Our mission.

Today I’m raising my coffee mug to the Teams.

And I think I’ll take a second toast to you, because we’re on a new mission.

We’re rebooting some old ideas, renewing some new ones and trying to be on time to do the nitty gritty work.

What I call the ass in seat work.

Chase your passion today.

Do or make or be one thing you love.

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I like the way this turned out BONE ORCHARD - a western adventure. Listen free.

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Bayou Retribution

Chapter One: Aftermath

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the city of New Orleans. Shadows stretched across the streets, their dark tendrils reaching out as if to swallow the remnants of the day. Detective Michael Callahan stood at the window of his small, cluttered office, gazing out at the city he had come to call home. The weight of recent events pressed down on his shoulders, a heavy burden he couldn't seem to shake.

His partner, Detective Eddie LeBlanc, sat at his desk across the room, pouring over case files with a furrowed brow. His graying hair and the lines etched into his face spoke of a life spent fighting for justice in a city where it was often hard to come by. He glanced up at Michael, his eyes meeting his partner's in a silent exchange of understanding.

The fallout from the corruption scandal had shaken the New Orleans Police Department to its core. Officers had been arrested, and the city's residents had lost faith in the very people sworn to protect them. As the dust settled, Michael and Eddie found themselves picking up the pieces, trying to rebuild their reputations and restore the public's trust.

"It's a damn mess," Eddie muttered, rubbing a hand over his weary face. "Never thought I'd see the day when our own people would be led away in handcuffs."

Michael nodded, his jaw tightening. "But we did the right thing, Eddie. We exposed the truth, no matter the cost."

Eddie leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied his partner. "You really believe that, don't you, kid? You think all of this...chaos, was worth it?"

Michael hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the window. "I have to believe it, Eddie. Otherwise, what was the point of everything we've been through?"

A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant wail of a siren. The city, it seemed, never slept. And neither did the darkness that lurked within it.

As the days passed, whispers reached the detectives' ears of a new threat stalking the city's streets. Someone, or something, was targeting those involved in the corruption, exacting a violent form of retribution. The first body had been discovered just a week ago, a former officer found dead in an alley with a bullet through his heart. Since then, two more had met similar fates, their deaths a brutal reminder of the sins they had committed.

Michael and Eddie knew they had to act, to find the person responsible for these deaths before more lives were lost. As they delved into the investigation, they found themselves walking a razor-thin line between right and wrong, justice and vengeance.

The morning sun filtered through the blinds as the detectives gathered in their captain's office. Captain Reynolds, a stout man with a no-nonsense attitude, eyed them both with a mixture of concern and determination.

"Listen up," he began, his voice steady. "We've got a situation on our hands. The press is calling them 'The Avenger,' and they're making a lot of noise. I want you two on this, but I need you to tread carefully. We can't afford any more scandals."

Michael and Eddie exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. They knew the stakes were high, and they were prepared to do whatever it took to bring this killer to justice.

Their first stop was the crime scene of the most recent murder, a dilapidated building in a rundown part of town. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the building seemed to groan under the weight of its own neglect. Michael swallowed hard as they entered, their footsteps echoing through the empty, dimly lit space. The walls were covered in graffiti, a testament to the desperation and anger that permeated this corner of the city. The room where the victim had been found was a small, windowless space, its floor littered with broken glass and debris.

Eddie knelt beside the chalk outline, his eyes scanning the scene for any clues that might lead them to the killer. Michael stood near the door, his gaze lingering on a message scrawled in red paint on the wall: "Justice will be served."

"Looks like our Avenger has a flair for the dramatic," Michael muttered, a shiver running down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that they were but pawns in a much larger game.

Eddie grunted in agreement, his eyes never leaving the ground. "Got something here," he said, holding up a shell casing. "Same caliber as the other murders. Our guy's consistent, at least."

As they continued to examine the crime scene, the detectives pieced together a profile of their suspect. This was someone with a deep knowledge of the corruption that had plagued the city, someone with a burning desire for vengeance, and the skills to carry it out.

As the day wore on, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the city. The detectives' search for answers had yielded little, and they found themselves back at their desks, poring over files and witness statements.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Michael," Eddie said, his voice tinged with worry. "This Avenger...they're not like any other killer we've dealt with. They're calculated, methodical. They know exactly what they're doing."

Michael frowned, his fingers drumming on the desk. "You think there's more to this than just revenge, don't you?"

Eddie nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the stack of files in front of him. "I don't know what it is yet, but something's off. We need to tread carefully, or we could end up in their crosshairs."

As night fell over New Orleans, the city's shadows seemed to come alive, whispering of secrets yet to be uncovered. The detectives knew that they were only beginning to scratch the surface of the darkness that lay at the heart of the Avenger's mission, and that every step they took brought them closer to a truth they might not be prepared to face.

In the quiet of their office, a single photograph lay atop a growing pile of evidence. It was a picture of the most recent victim, his eyes wide with fear as he stared into the barrel of a gun. And in the corner, written in the same red paint that had marked the crime scene, were the words: "You're next."

As the detectives stared at the chilling message, they knew that they were no longer just hunting a killer. They were also racing against time to save their own lives.