never went to see Doc Holland?” Lacey asked.
“Don’t know,” Sook replied. “Habit, I guess.”
“No, that’s not it,” Lacey said, sliding Sook’s fries out of arm’s reach. “You should tell me the truth. Otherwise, these Diner visits might become very infrequent.”
Sook drained the last bit of shake from his tall glass, making that annoying sound. He put the glass down, consulted the ceiling, and finally spoke the truth.
“Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”
“Get to the point, Sook.”
“Doc Holland wasn’t a real doctor.”
NOTES:
Dostoyevsky,
Back to you. Just a quick refresher: We have a murder to solve—a dead body and a killer on the loose. I’ve been looking back at some of your previous chapters. Your storyline with Terry Jakes is bordering on incoherent. How about we keep him out of the picture for a while and work on creating more viable suspects?
Also, let’s work on making this more cinematic, but not like The Fop . There was way too much drinking and talking in that script. In fact, that sounds like a fitting description of our whole relationship.
Lisa
Lisa,
You know what would help me create suspects? If you stopped turning all my potentially threatening characters into stuffed animals for Lacey to play with. Tate, for example, is supposed to be a menacing badass. Now he can’t even manage to wear pants or pronounce “laundromat”? Also, I seem to remember introducing Sook as a multifaceted war veteran, not a cuddly grandpa. I’d retaliate, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. Actually, I do, but I’d hate to see Dr. Dreamy end up in a ditch somewhere.
It’s funny that you remember our relationship as consisting entirely of drinking and talking. I remember it as drinking and listening.
You want cinematic, keep reading.
Dave
CHAPTER 10
Leaving Brandy’s Sunday night, Paul decided to confront her the next time they met. He’d been hoping she respected him enough to divulge her secret, but it was getting to the point where it was either stop with the charade or good-bye. The first sign was the biography of Wittgenstein he’d found under her bed. Then it was the game theory podcasts on her iPod. Her computer even had a bookmark for the Quorum Group, apparently a club for brainiacs who didn’t deign to mingle with the dim bulbs of Mensa.
On his way out of Tulac he stopped in an underlit park and slid the folded-up tarp into a trash bin. Lacey would be pleased to know he’d spared the ozone by not burning plastic. On the highway back toward Mercer, his mind wandered to Brandy again. Did she even like Mythmatch, or was she just patronizing him? She probably liked it, he decided. It was pretty sophisticated if you thought about it.
Paul’s cell phone interrupted his thoughts with the opening riff of “American Woman.” That could mean only one thing.
“Terry.”
“Don’t use names,” Terry said.
“You’re calling my personal cell phone from your personal cell phone.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” Terry said. “You’ll never believe this, but while I was gone twenty beautiful Kush plants and a dozen Trainwrecks spontaneously germinated in my grow room. I shit you not. Somebody up there likes me.”
“Ha ha,” said Paul. “I’m coming by.”
“I’ll be here,” said Terry.
When Paul arrived, Terry was at work in the basement, trimming Paul’s plants. Wearing a Tulac Titans cap and a chipper expression, he bore no resemblance to the babbling mess he’d been the previous morning out at the tower. But that was typical. Terry could do a complete emotional 180 faster than anyone Paul knew. In another twenty-four hours he could be fetal again.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of these ladies’ visit?” Terry asked.
“I’ll explain later. I do appreciate the babysitting, but I need some explaining from you first. First, what’s going on with you and Tate?” Paul said.
“You give
“Don’t know,” Sook replied. “Habit, I guess.”
“No, that’s not it,” Lacey said, sliding Sook’s fries out of arm’s reach. “You should tell me the truth. Otherwise, these Diner visits might become very infrequent.”
Sook drained the last bit of shake from his tall glass, making that annoying sound. He put the glass down, consulted the ceiling, and finally spoke the truth.
“Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”
“Get to the point, Sook.”
“Doc Holland wasn’t a real doctor.”
NOTES:
Dostoyevsky,
Back to you. Just a quick refresher: We have a murder to solve—a dead body and a killer on the loose. I’ve been looking back at some of your previous chapters. Your storyline with Terry Jakes is bordering on incoherent. How about we keep him out of the picture for a while and work on creating more viable suspects?
Also, let’s work on making this more cinematic, but not like The Fop . There was way too much drinking and talking in that script. In fact, that sounds like a fitting description of our whole relationship.
Lisa
Lisa,
You know what would help me create suspects? If you stopped turning all my potentially threatening characters into stuffed animals for Lacey to play with. Tate, for example, is supposed to be a menacing badass. Now he can’t even manage to wear pants or pronounce “laundromat”? Also, I seem to remember introducing Sook as a multifaceted war veteran, not a cuddly grandpa. I’d retaliate, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. Actually, I do, but I’d hate to see Dr. Dreamy end up in a ditch somewhere.
It’s funny that you remember our relationship as consisting entirely of drinking and talking. I remember it as drinking and listening.
You want cinematic, keep reading.
Dave
CHAPTER 10
Leaving Brandy’s Sunday night, Paul decided to confront her the next time they met. He’d been hoping she respected him enough to divulge her secret, but it was getting to the point where it was either stop with the charade or good-bye. The first sign was the biography of Wittgenstein he’d found under her bed. Then it was the game theory podcasts on her iPod. Her computer even had a bookmark for the Quorum Group, apparently a club for brainiacs who didn’t deign to mingle with the dim bulbs of Mensa.
On his way out of Tulac he stopped in an underlit park and slid the folded-up tarp into a trash bin. Lacey would be pleased to know he’d spared the ozone by not burning plastic. On the highway back toward Mercer, his mind wandered to Brandy again. Did she even like Mythmatch, or was she just patronizing him? She probably liked it, he decided. It was pretty sophisticated if you thought about it.
Paul’s cell phone interrupted his thoughts with the opening riff of “American Woman.” That could mean only one thing.
“Terry.”
“Don’t use names,” Terry said.
“You’re calling my personal cell phone from your personal cell phone.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” Terry said. “You’ll never believe this, but while I was gone twenty beautiful Kush plants and a dozen Trainwrecks spontaneously germinated in my grow room. I shit you not. Somebody up there likes me.”
“Ha ha,” said Paul. “I’m coming by.”
“I’ll be here,” said Terry.
When Paul arrived, Terry was at work in the basement, trimming Paul’s plants. Wearing a Tulac Titans cap and a chipper expression, he bore no resemblance to the babbling mess he’d been the previous morning out at the tower. But that was typical. Terry could do a complete emotional 180 faster than anyone Paul knew. In another twenty-four hours he could be fetal again.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of these ladies’ visit?” Terry asked.
“I’ll explain later. I do appreciate the babysitting, but I need some explaining from you first. First, what’s going on with you and Tate?” Paul said.
“You give
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