Splendiferous!

New NaNoWriMo site!

It sucks, but hey, so does your mom!

Anyway, go read my fantastically crappy novel that is a work in progess. Start from the bottom up.

NANOWRIMO Day 11: 3669 Words (16930 total)

Somehow, I don’t know how I got through the next few days. Sue was still unconscious, but the results had come back from whatever tests they had run on her. No sign of brain damage, or skull fractures, or spinal injuries, or paralysis, or anything else that was really, really, really bad. Now she just had to deal with everything else. But the doctors were sure she was going to be okay. She was still listed in critical condition, though much more stable than she had been. They were confident that she was going to be okay. Assuming she woke up again.

I was able to get everything for the funerals arranged, with a lot of help from everyone else. My parents’ house became the base of our operations, and my friends made sure I never spent the night alone. They took shifts taking care of what was necessary and too turns staying over. Somehow it worked out that Lauren and Pete were never there at the same time. Probably a good thing. I still didn’t know what was really going on there, and I wasn’t sure how they interacted when they saw each other. Hell, they might be on good terms for all I know. But I was grateful they kept even the possibility of a conflict or confrontation from occurring around me, whether by design or accident I don’t know. Lauren took care of all the arrangements regarding my parents themselves. They really weren’t in good shape. The mortician might have been able to repair their remains enough so that they would actually be presentable, but I didn’t want him to even try. It seemed like a hopeless cause to me. And besides, I don’t like being around bodies. Especially if I knew them in life. Pete made the arrangements with the church for services. He was a very religious and spiritual person, as was Lauren. I’m not really in to all that stuff. I don’t really know what I believe in as far as an afterlife, or in God, or anything. God had been too absent and too noticeably silent during too many events in my life for me to have any faith in a higher being. Take my parents for example. Where was God in that? But I knew my parents would want to have a service done by the local preacher, or pastor, or priest, or deacon, or whatever the hell they’re called now a days. I just didn’t want to handle it. I spent most of the time talking to the police and the insurance company and my parents’ lawyer, trying to get things settled. Well, I spent most of the time I wasn’t sitting by Sue’s bedside. Eddie and Joe took care of all the assorted other things that goes into funerals. I hadn’t gone to one in years, so I didn’t know what had to be done. Neither did Eddie, seeing as how he had been locked up for so long, but Joe had been to a couple, so he knew what to do. And Eddie was enthusiastic about helping in whatever way he could.

But probably the person who helped me out the most was Carol. That meeting had not been awkward, as I had suspected it would have been. She just showed up at my parents’ house shortly after I got there. Without saying a word she gave me a big hug, kissed me on the cheek, squeezed my shoulder and got to work manning the phone. Since she had been so close to the family, she knew everyone they knew. She fielded all the calls, told everyone what was going on, dealt with all of my extended family, visitors, and every one else. That was a huge relief. The one thing I didn’t want to do was deal with people telling me how sorry they were. I could deal with it from my closest friends, but that was all. Even though I hadn’t seen any of them in years, some of them in many years, I was closer to them than almost anyone else, including my family. Except for Sue. I was very close to my sister, and seeing her like this had hit me hard. Carol and I had barely spoken, but I was extremely grateful for what she was doing. Especially since she was doing it without even being asked.

We worked as an effective team, and when it came time for the funeral we were all ready. It was a beautiful service. Carol gave the eulogy. I didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. She did, though. Talked about how she had known my family for years, how she had watched Sue grow up, said we were all praying for her, said how my parents had done a great job raising both of us. The usual things people say about two people who had kids dying. There were a lot more people than I was expecting. I think I met Pete’s wife, and Carol’s husband, but I don’t really remember. I was still too disoriented inside to pay much attention. Things had happened so fast and changed so much in the last several days. Everything went well, though. It was a cold crisp cloudless day (something I hadn’t seen in God only knows how long) when I buried my parents into the ground. The horrible weather I was used to took a day off in honor of me, I suppose. How nice. I was like a robot at the reception. Thanking everyone for coming, thanking them for their thoughts and regrets, etc. I just wanted to check on Sue and get some sleep. After what seemed an eternity, everyone left, and I was alone with my thoughts. Well, almost alone.

About twenty minutes after everyone had left, the front door to my parents’ house opened, and then shut again. I was sitting in my dad’s favorite chair in front of the TV. I didn’t inquire as to the identity of this person intruding into my solitude. Whoever it was would make that clear to me soon enough. I just sat, staring at the blank TV screen. This is where my dad watched his favorite shows, the evening news, and whatever big football game was being played on Sundays.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder from behind. I put my hand on it, giving it a squeeze. I knew that hand. I had held it countless times, walking through the park with the leaves swirling around us in the wind, guiding it on the floor of a high school gym at a prom that seemed like an eternity ago, giving it a squeeze in a hospital bed after its owner had broken a leg in a bike accident, and holding it tightly as two teenagers fumbled through their first sexual experience. We had been through a lot, that hand and me. I felt a ring on one of the fingers. Once I had thought I would put that ring on it, naïve in my young days “in love”. I would never do it though. Oh, I would get married several times after that, but never to the one I had always thought I would. She wasn’t the only woman I had loved, but she was the first.

“Hello, Carol,” I said simply.

“Hello, Mickey.” Carol had one of the sexiest voices I had ever come across. Her voice caressed my ears, tickling them. There only one other person who could do the things Carol did to me with her voice. Not that I was likely to ever see her again. That night at the docks had seen to that. I rubbed my shoulder in memory of the pain. “Am I squeezing too hard?” she asked, slight laughter in her voice.

“No, I just, she, uh…” I took a breath to compose myself. “No, you’re not. I was just remembering something, is all.”

Her hand began rubbing my shoulder, and brushing up against my neck. I could feel the individual hairs standing up. “This make it feel better?”

“I, uh, yes, actually.” I hadn’t realized how much tension and stress was in my shoulders. “Thanks Carol.”

“Anytime. You know I like giving massages.” Her other hand began working my other shoulder as well.

“That’s not what I meant.” I put my hands on her hands, stopping her. “Thanks for everything you’ve done this past week. It’s really helped.”

“You’re welcome.” I looked up, staring at her upside down face looking over me with a look of amusement in her eyes. And something else. As I realized what it was, her hands grabbed my chin and pulled it up to her as she leaned down. Our lips met, and she kissed me very thoroughly. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried kissing somebody upside down, but it is quite an experience. Try it sometime.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hands had pulled up behind her head and had intertwined in her hair. I stopped, and pushed her away. “Carol, no. It’s, you, I., we…” She quirked an upside down eyebrow at me, ridiculing any possible reason I could have for pulling away from her. I put my hand on hers and touched her ring. “Carol, you’re married.”

Her eyes rolled, and looked back at me in anger, rebuking me for ruining the moment and reminding her of her obligations. “So? Being married was never an issue between us when it was you wearing the ring!” Ouch. But she was right. I had never treated my marriage vows seriously, except for the first one, but that only lasted a couple of months. What right did I have to start recognizing them now?

“I know, but this is different.”

“How?” she responded angrily. I shrugged, not really having any idea why I thought it was. “Besides, I thought you could use the company.”

“I do, it’s just…”

“Whatever, Mickey.” She pushed my head down roughly and withdrew her hands.

“Why did you do it?” I asked.

“I already told you why. It was never an issue before, and you could use the company with all the things you’ve been going through. Even you can’t hold all that pain inside. You have to let it out to somebody. Who better but me?” she demanded.

“That’s not what I meant. Why did you get married.” Boy, was that the wrong thing to say.

“Leave my marriage out of this!” I turned the chair to face her. She was livid. Seeing my face, she opened her mouth again, thought better of what she was about to say, and closed it. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and began speaking much more calmly. “Look, obviously you’re still dealing with everything and aren’t ready to talk. Let me know when you are.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Unless you’d rather Lauren comfort you. Maybe you can comfort her right back, considering Pete left her like a pile of rags on the side of the street.” Wow. I was not expecting that. Obviously there was some enmity between them that I had never picked up on. This was all very confusing.

“Carol, look, I..” But she didn’t get to find out what she was supposed to look at, as she barreled right over my response.

“Never mind. Forget it. We’ll talk later.” She shook her head swiftly, and I could hear her teeth grinding. “Oh, you almost made me forget why I came here. You were always good at pushing my buttons.” I was becoming very confused again. If she wasn’t here to comfort me, than what was she…? I rubbed my face with my hands, and then abruptly stopped when I heard her speak the three words I’ve been wanting to hear most. “Sue is awake.”

“Sue is awake? Seriously? When? Is she okay?” I leapt out of my chair, running for my coat and hat. The weather had started getting back to its normal condition of “shitty”.

“Yes, seriously. She woke up about fifteen minutes ago. Right after I got there. She asked for you, and I told her I’d go get you.” I was searching my pockets frantically for my keys, finding nothing. As I began searching the cushions on the chair, I heard some jingling behind me. I looked up, saw Carol holding them and breathed a sigh of relief. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Absolutely.” I ran over and grabbed my keys from her as I put my hat on. “Thanks Carol. Thanks so much.” Without thinking I kissed her, quickly, but still a kiss. “Lock up when you leave, ok?” I shouted as I ran out the door into the gathering storm towards my car.

I didn’t see her as I left, standing in my doorway with a hand with a ring on one finger touching the lips I had just kissed. Our reunion had certainly been interesting.




I ran into the hospital, almost knocking an old lady over in my haste. I turned my head and waved as I continued on. “Sorry about that!” She gave me that look of disgust and outrage that old folks give anyone younger. I didn’t care how rude I had been. Sue was awake. Sue was awake!! I ran to her door, skidding to a stop. At least, that was my intention. It was more of a slide, turning into a slip, and then a fall, than a skid. Ow. I’m lucky I didn’t break my arm. My head shot up as I heard the most beautiful giggle I’ve ever heard. My eyes locked with Sue’s, delighted at seeing me, delighted at being alive, and delighted at me for making a fool of myself. As usual.

I stood up, brushing myself off and walked into the room with more grace than most people could manage after falling like an idiot. “Hey Seuss.”

“Hey Mouse.” She looked radiantly beautiful. Oh sure, she still had a hundred tubes coming out of her, looked paler than death, and just generally like she’d been run over by a truck (which she had, I reminded myself). But she was alive. And that look of awareness, life, and happiness in her eyes was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I felt like taking her in my arms and waltzing around the room. Probably not a good idea.

I sat on the edge of her bed. “Nice dress. You going to sleep the whole day away in bed?” We were always joking around. If she was up to it, we would have been wrestling playfully on the floor. She’s a tough little monster.

She touched the dirty hospital gown that she wore. “Oh, you like it? I was hoping you would. I spent hours picking out the right dress to welcome you home. And I have been in bed too long. What time is it?” Oh, sweet music to my ears! She was going to be perfectly fine, if she could respond like that.

“I don’t know, exactly.” I checked my watch. “Seven ish. If the warden releases you, you want to come to dinner with me?” Not that she was going to be released any time soon. “What do they normally feed you in here, anyway?”

“I’d love to come! Beats me what’s been on the menu. I gather I’ve been asleep, but I’m not entirely sure what they’ve been feeding me.” She cocked her head to the side and looked at me curiously. “How long have I been in here, anyway? And what the hell happened?”

“Almost a week. Wait, what do you mean what happened?”

“A week? Damn. I mean, how did I get here? What happened? One doesn’t normally wake up in a hospital with a bunch of tubes and with the feeling that I fell off a mountain and hit every rock on the way down.” She said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You mean you don’t remember?” Oh man.

“Have you been listening at all? No, I don’t remember. Are you going to tell me, or what?”

“Ummm. What was the last thing you remember?” Oh man. How much didn’t she remember?

“Well, aside from waking up a little while ago and speaking briefly with Carol, and I mean briefly, the last thing I remember is getting in the car with mom and dad to go to church.” She frowned. “I didn’t think to ask Carol for them, for some reason. I didn’t really think you were in town, either. When did you get here? And where are mom and dad?”

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I did not want to have to tell her this. Well, better me than some random doctor, I guess. “Seuss,” (that was my pet name for her, as hers for me was the aforementioned “Mouse”. No real story, there. When she was young, I used to read her Dr. Seuss books, and she used to watch a bunch of old Disney cartoons.) I began. Damn, this was hard. “You were in a car accident.”

“Well, I figured that much. Care to elaborate?” She sat there with her arms crossed. One of them was in a cast, the other heavily bandaged up from all the burns and cuts she had sustained.

“I guess it was on your way to church. You got hit by a truck. Ma and dad, were, were…they got the worst of it.” Her eyes widened, mouthing the word “worst”. I could tell by the dawning look of horror in her eyes that based on what she felt like, if they had taken the worst it was bad. Really bad. “They didn’t make it, Seuss.”

She gasped. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” She kept repeating that softly to herself as tears welled up in her eyes. I leaned over and hugged her as tightly as I dared. I didn’t want to cause any more pain than what I had just done. She hugged me as tightly as she could, not caring about any physical pain right now. The emotional pain overwhelmed anything that could have hurt as badly as this. All she craved was the touch of her big brother, to share in the pain, and take it away.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I wish I had been here. I should have come more often.”

“Stop that,” she half whispered, half sobbed into my ear. “Don’t you blame anything on anybody, least of all you. This was just senseless.” She held me tighter. “What happened to the truck driver?”

“Dead. He was drunk, the bastard.” She let out another small sob, and then let go of me. She leaned back and wiped her eyes with her hands.

“So senseless.” She shook her head, and took a deep breath. “Well, there will be time to mourn later. What can I do to help?”

I stared back at her blankly. “What do you mean? Help with what?”

“The funeral,” she said simply. Oh God, she still didn’t realize she had been under for a week. It hadn’t sunk in.

“It was today.” Her tears began anew.

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I felt so useless. I held her tightly again. What else could I do?

NANOWRIMO Day 9: 1759 Words (13261 total)

I woke up the next morning to a nurse closing the door to Sue’s room as she exited. I leapt to my feet.

“How is she doing? Is she okay? Is she awake?”

The nurse smiled at me. “She’s still stable, yes I think so, and no she isn’t.” She touched my shoulder. “Good morning Mister Spillane. Why don’t you follow me and we’ll get you some coffee. That chair can’t have been a comfortable bed.” I nodded and followed her.

I had spent the night sleeping in the chair outside of Sue’s door. I had left explicit instructions that they should awake me immediately if her condition changed or if anything else was learned. Obviously this was not the case. I yawned, and accepted the coffee the Nurse got for me from the employee break room. It was black, very hot, and not much umph to it. I hate coffee. “Thanks.” She smiled at me again, and I headed back towards Sue’s room, sipping my nasty coffee as I went. Mmmmm, blessed caffeine.

Last night had been a real good time, and I realized afterwards that I had really needed it. I don’t know what that says about me, needing to get away from things when I had only been around them for a couple hours. But it was a good time. Last night it was just me, Joe, Pete, and Eddie.

Eddie looked great for someone fresh out of jail. Swore he was reformed, and living a productive life in society now, that Pete was his role model since he never got into any trouble. He was truly a model citizen. Or so he claimed. Time would tell on that one, but I suspected more than a little that Eddie would not mind performing a little bit of mischief if he got the chance. He got drunk last night, but didn’t do anything crazy. He was the only one of us who got drunk, actually.

Pete didn’t really open up about what he’d been up to. He really didn’t want to talk about the situation with Lauren or his wife (whose name is Ilyena. Definitely Russian.) other than saying that “things had changed.” Obviously he still had some issues to deal with, and that he would talk when he was ready. He drank plain old water. Joe joked that the “purified soul only needed simple sustenance,” like bread or water. Pete laughed a little about that, but Joe actually meant it. Pete was just one of those really good guys who was better than every body else. Call him righteous, Godly, a liar, or just plain old up tight, but you couldn’t get Pete to do anything wrong. Not even something that gave off the appearance of the possibility of being wrong in any way. Which is why the little love triangle that had developed was so curious. That just wasn’t the kind of thing that Pete would get into.

Joe and I both had sodas. Joe made some lighthearted jokes about everything, and went to join a couple of chicks who were batting eyes at us. Later on he called me over to go join them, which I did. Seems the blonde’s friend was interested. I wasn’t really interested, though. Not because of her, mind you. She had a nice body, and seemed like she knew how to have a good time. I just couldn’t get into it, what with everything going on. Joe went home with the blonde though. The man could charm anything with breasts. Well, maybe not really big fat guys.

I asked Pete to take care of Eddie and made my excuses to the nice young lady. She seemed disappointed, but I noticed Pete talking to her as I left. He would explain what I was in no mood to do. Another night, I would definitely have seen where it would lead. Maybe later on this week. And I could work the sympathy angle.

So I went back to the hospital and settled down in the extremely uncomfortable chair. Somehow I had fallen asleep. I tilted my head to the side, stretching it. It cracked very loudly. Ow. Maybe sleeping in the lobby would have been better.

I finished my coffee and got up to chuck it in the trash can. “He shoots!” The crushed paper cup bounced off the edge of the trash can.

“He misses.”

I turned at the voice to my left. It was Lauren. She was never the prettiest girl. In fact, she was just pretty enough that you might think she was pretty, if she was your type. She’d always been good, plain, down to earth Lauren. The kind of girl that would wait for her betrothed, or assumed betrothed, to return home so that they could get married, raise a family, and grow old together. Real nice girl. She bent down and picked up the errant projectile and tossed it into its destined final place of rest.

She came over, and neither of us said anything. She just hugged me, and I hugged back. It felt good to be hugged, especially by such an old friend. As we held each other, I thought about what it would be like to finally settle down with a girl like Lauren. Oh, I had “settled down” before, but the matches were always disasters, which didn’t make the settling down last very long. Lauren was the kind of person anyone could settle down with, and not be settling for what you could get. I liked Lauren. She was very “real”.

“Thanks Laur. I needed that.”

She smiled sadly as she let me go. “I know.” She put her head down, and said, “I’ve been praying for Sue, that she makes it out okay. And for your parents’ souls. And for you.” She looked up at me with a sad look in her eyes that matched her smile. “How are you?”

“Well, I’m doing okay.” She looked at me skeptically, and I realized I didn’t know how I was. I hadn’t really digested everything that had happened. How could I, in such a short time? “Well, maybe not. I don’t know how the hell I’m doing. I don’t know a lot of things right now.” She nodded, knowing that was the case all along. She had a real good ability to know exactly what you were thinking, especially if you didn’t even know. She’d do well in my line of work. She was a teacher, instead. I guess that ability worked well with keeping the kids in line. The eyes in the back of the teacher’s head type thing.

“Have you gone to see your parents yet?” she asked softly.

I shook my head. “I only got in last night.” Again, she nodded. It must be a real burden when you’re omniscient, having to ask questions and pretend you don’t already know the answer just so you don’t freak out the common mortals. She truly was a great person. She and Pete would have been a perfect match. I decided not to mention that unless she brought it up first. I respected her too much to bring up something that would probably cause her so much pain.

“Why don’t we go right now then?” she suggested.

“Right now? Well, I guess now is as good a time as any. Wait, ‘we’? You’re coming with me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course, silly.” She took my arm and guided me towards the exit. “You think you can handle anything without your friends? I’m surprised you were able to get here by yourself. You didn’t take a taxi the whole way, did you?” she teased me.

“Ha! I’m not that damn hopeless. Am I?”

She laughed again. “Oh, Mickey.” She shook her head. I forgot she doesn’t like swearing. I’d watch my tongue around her. Offending her would not have been a good idea. “No, you’re not entirely hopeless, though I do worry about you sometimes. You should come home more often.” From anyone else I would have taken that as faulting me for not being here at the time of the accident. But not from her. We reached her modest car, something only one living on the luxurious salary of a teacher could afford.

“I have been gone a long time.”

“We miss you, Mickey. All of us.”

“Yeah.” I really hadn’t been home at all. I wasn’t exactly avoiding it, I just enjoyed living in the city. That wasn’t really true. I don’t know why I never came back anymore. Maybe I couldn’t face my parents after she… God damn memories. I rubbed my shoulder. Some things in life I just will never understand.

Lauren glanced at me. But she didn’t say anything. That meant more to me than anything else anyone had done for me so far. Some things were just too painful to think about, especially right now.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t awkward, it was quite nice actually. Plus it was a short trip from the hospital, so it didn’t really get the chance to become awkward. Lauren got out, and I unbuckled my seat belt but stayed in the car. She came around to my side and knocked on the window. I rolled it down partially.

“You coming? Or do you plan on staying in my car all day?” I said nothing, just sitting there. Her voice softened. “Mickey, I know this is really hard. But you have to do this. Come on. Let’s go.” I sat for a moment longer, and then got out of the car. If she could deal with the loss (and betrayal?) of the love of her life, I could deal with this. She took my hand and squeezed it, and we walked to the door.




I got back in the car. That was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Lauren got back in the car and squeezed my leg. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Yeah. I am.” I was. “It was damn hard though.” She allowed me my swearing, for now. Though it wouldn’t continue, after this.

“I know. I’m proud of you. I know how hard that must have been.” She started the car. “I think you’re going to be okay. I’m glad.”

“Well, guess we’re doing closed caskets for the funeral.”

She glanced at me and smiled slightly. She knew if I was joking, no matter how sardonic and morbid it was, I would be okay. And I would be.

Why Shaq is awesome.

When asked about Phil Jackson and leaving the Lakers:

"I didn't want to play for another coach there. That's like me training with a ninja all my life and then going down to a local karate instructor."

Awesome. That's what I call Real Ultimate Power™.

NANOWRIMO Day 8: 4317 words (11502 total)

The hour long drive actually took more like an hour and a half because of traffic. It seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, though. Maybe because I wasn’t really paying any attention to anything. My mind was completely blank, still trying to wrap itself around what had happened but coming up with nothing. No way in, no way to comprehend or fathom what had really occurred. I don’t know quite how I got through it without getting in an accident.

I pulled into a parking space. And shut off my car. I realized that I didn’t know where I had gone. I looked around at my surroundings and realized I had gone straight to the hospital. Maybe I was paying some attention. Or maybe my car just knew where to take me, and thought that it would leave me to my contemplation and emptiness. I walked up to the hospital and went through the doors.

The waiting room was near empty. That surprised me. Such a horrible event had occurred that certainly the room had to be filled with people anxious to hear any sort of news on their loved ones. My loved ones. My family. Shaking my head, I walked up to the window.

“May I help you, sir?” A young girl, probably around nineteen, dirty blond hair pulled back in pig tails. Receptionist. Probably trying to save money so she could go to school and get a job as a nurse one day.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here to see my, my sister.” I didn’t know if she was even still in the hospital, as Joe hadn’t said. He did say she was in stable condition, so I assumed she was here, but for all I know she’d been released by now. Or was dead.

“What is the patient’s name?” the girl asked mechanically. The patient’s name. She had no identity, wasn’t a living, breathing, human being who could feel pain. Just a patient. I despised this young girl, who was oblivious to the pain I hadn’t fully realized I felt yet. How dare she treat my sister with such obvious contempt and so little caring.

“Susan Spillane.” I tried with great difficulty to keep the anger out of my voice, and I think I succeeded. Sort of.

Her face softened in sorrow and pity. “Oh, you’re her, her brother? I’m so very sorry, Mister, uh, Spillane. She’s in room one hundred and nineteen, down the hallway on your left. I’m really, really sorry.” She probably took my anger as pain. Which it was, in a way. It was easier to feel hatred and anger right now than pain. She was just doing her job, anyway. Trying to be a professional. You can’t have too much compassion at a place like this or you’d get too depressed from all the suffering, I guess. I nodded to her, unable to speak, and walked down the hallway she indicated.

There was no one in the hallway but me. Up ahead, there was a single empty chair outside of one of the rooms. A coat was in the chair, forgotten by its owner. Had he been summoned into the room to hear how his friend was doing? In his haste, had he left the coat on the chair? Was he now sitting on the floor, weeping over a loss, without the warmth of the coat to protect him? Or was he in the room celebrating the good news, that whoever it was would be okay? As I came closer, I realized that the chair was outside Sue’s room. I felt a chill go down my back as I pushed the door open.

Sue was lying on a hospital bed, unconscious. At least, I think she’s unconscious. Yeah, there’s a machine hooked up to her that’s beeping at a regular steady pace. She has a bunch of tubing coming out of her, and a mask for what I assume is oxygen over her nose and mouth. She’s in one of those damn annoying hospital gowns. I hate those things. Never cover yourself up properly. She has some scrapes and cuts on her face, but she looks okay. Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she is in a coma. God damn. One of her arms is not covered by the blanket and sheets. She has a big purple bruise over most of the length of her arm, plus what looks like a burn. God damn. My little sister.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, Sue,” I said softly. God, I hate hospitals. Way too damn depressing. Shit, I can’t handle this right now. I walk outside. The chair is no longer vacant.

“Mickey!” The figure rises from the chair and embraces me. It takes me a moment to realize who it is. My mind, detached from the rest of my body and my pain and my misery, tells me it’s Joe. I hug him back. “I’m glad you made it, Mickey. You okay?”

I nod. “Thanks for waiting for me, or with her, or whatever. How, how is she?” I am not sure I really want to know the answer to that question.

“The doctors think she’s going to be okay. She’s been going in and out of consciousness. A lot of cuts and bruises, some burning. Mostly on her arm and her chest. And she broke one of her legs, and a foot, and a hand, and a couple ribs. Pretty much just banged around a lot. She also has something wrong with her back, and they think she might have some head trauma, but they’re not sure. Or they won’t tell me, at least. I’m not family, so...the only reason I know any of that is because I made friendly with one of the nurses.” He grinned. “We got a date sometime later, after…after everything is done.” He stopped grinning at that.

“Thanks for everything, Joe. I mean it.” I put my arm on his shoulder and squeezed. “I think I am really going to need your help these next few days. With, uh, with lots of things going on and everything.” God damn, this was hard. And I was purposefully NOT thinking about my parents. God damn it, God damn it!

He nodded. “I’m just glad I was home when you called. I haven’t left here since I heard about the accident, except to run home for a few minutes to track down some more numbers, and to make a quick sandwich.” He grimaced. “The food in the cafeteria sucks ass. Tastes like my shoes from gym class back in high school.”

I laughed at that. “I didn’t know you liked such delicacies. I have an old pair of boots I was thinking about chucking, but if you want me to save them for you for Thanksgiving, I can.” This produced another grin and a punch to my shoulder.

“Ass,” he proclaimed me. Ahhh, just like the good old times. Joe would never, ever change, no matter how much time went by. Take the nurse. He’s a bigger fan of the ladies than I am. Also, there’s something about a woman in a nurse’s uniform, apparently. I never really saw it, myself. I’m not a fan of the color white. But you wouldn’t know that by the number of times I’ve been married. Or maybe that’s why I don’t like the color. Either way, nurses just don’t do it for me. “A bunch of people have been by to check on Sue. A lot of them asked about you. In fact, I’m surprised no one is here right now. I guess because most of them are eating dinner right now, or something.”

The mention of dinner reminded me I had nothing to eat all day except bourbon, which isn’t exactly the healthiest of foods. “People have come by?” I don’t know why this surprised me. My parents were generally liked around town, and I know my sister was popular and had a bunch of friends. Myself, I had gotten into some trouble when I was younger, so not everyone liked me.

“Didn’t you see the flowers?” At my blank look, he pointed behind me and opened the door. There were flowers all over the room. I don’t know how I missed them the first time around. I guess I was too focused on Sue. Damn, there were a lot. And they had gotten here quickly. I said as much, to which Joe responded, “Word travels fast around here. You know that.” I smiled sadly. Word indeed did travel fast around here. Mostly through my ma. Too much pain for that, still.

“Who do I need to talk to, about, everything?” I was not looking forward to the next few days. But I had nothing better to do, and it was why I had come here. Though I did wish I could just sit and be with Sue. God damn.

“There will be enough time for that later. You looked like you haven’t had anything to eat in three days.” I nodded. It had, in fact, been a while since I ate anything. He sniffed. “Though you certainly have had your share of things to drink today. Can’t say I blame you, all things considered.” I nodded again, not telling him I had consumed it all before hearing from Joe. Nor did I tell him what exactly had made me drink it all. I pushed Karl, the woman, the Red Sox, and everything else from my mind. Time enough for that later. “Let’s go, Mickey.”

Joe led me down the hallway and out the door of the hospital, waving to the receptionist as we walked out. She giggled at us, Joe’s charm with the nurses, or future nurses anyway, working as usual. Then she nodded soberly. She knew we were just going out for a bit. We would be back. There was far too much to do.




We walked into one of the local establishments nearby the hospital. It was a dive, but it was close. And if I remembered correctly, the food wasn’t half bad, either. We ordered our food (burger and fries each, one well done for Joe, and one rare for me. I liked my meat still mooing.), and talked a bit while we waited. A few people came over to offer me their condolences, but for the most part we were left alone.

“So a bunch of people stopped by, eh? Anyone I should know about?” I said in between bites. The burger was bloody and juicy, just the way I like it. It’s certainly better than that crunchy slap of charcoal Joe was eating.

“Well, mostly friends of your parents, neighbors, that sort of thing. A few people from high school who happened to see me and wondered what I was there for. A bunch of Sue’s friends. Some of them are real cute, too. Too bad I couldn’t play the role of the grieving older brother. Though some of them did think I was you.”

“Got dates with them too?” He grinned, but didn’t answer. “Why I am not surprised. Don’t sully my good name, bastard.” We both laughed at that.

“Nothing I could do to make it more filthy. Umm, there were a couple of people who showed up, though. Carol was here before I was.” Carol was my old high school girl friend who I had left to go see the sights in the big city. She still stayed close with the family. When I was in town we would usually run into each other, and occasionally fool around, but nothing real serious.

“Yeah, how’s she?”

“Pretty upset. Married, too.”

“No shit! To who?” That was surprising. I didn’t think she’d have settled down. Also, I enjoyed seeing her when I was here. We always had fun together.

“Some random guy I don’t know. Happened a while back. Surprised you didn’t know. Didn’t your parents tell you?” He added some more salt to his fries.

“Hmmm. Now that I think about it, they did mention something about her about six months ago, but I never returned the call. Huh, Carol’s married. Damn.” This visit back home was full of surprises so far. Mostly unpleasant.

“Yeah. Eddie came by, too, as did Lauren.”

“Wait, Eddie? Fast Eddie? He’s out of prison?” Joe nodded. “Good for him!” Eddie was one of our close friends from high school. He got busted several years back for accessory to armed robbery. He was the driver. Plead a deal after someone fingered him. Most have gotten out on good behavior. Ha! That’s a thought. “Lauren. She still waiting for Pete?” Lauren was the nicest girl any of us had ever met. Better than all of us, too. She was madly in love with our buddy Pete, who had gone out of state to go to school for something I can’t pronounce. Been doing that ever since, and she’s been waiting this whole time. He was her perfect companion, too. Straight laced the whole way. Never lied about anything, even to save himself from trouble. Always did the right thing. Good guy.

“Well, she was, until a few months back.” He gave me a weird look. “You telling me you haven’t heard about this either?”

“No, what is it? She found someone else to sweep her off her feet?”

“Uh, no. Not quite. Pete came back a few months ago. Said he’d been in Europe after he finished getting his fiftieth degree. And he came back with his wife.”

I sprayed my water all over Joe’s face. “Wife???”

“Thanks for that.” Joe wiped his face off with his napkin, then kicked my shins under the table. “Yeah, some Russian chick or something. Can’t remember her name. Lena, or something like that. Big surprise for everybody all around. She was, uh, surprised, to say the least.” He looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’ll say. I thought they had an understanding? She’d wait for him til he was done with everything and then come back for her. Then all that happy ever after bullshit.” Damn. If Pete had ditched Lauren for some random European broad, shit. That was not like him at all.

“I thought so too. So did she. I guess not.”

“Yeah.”

“He came by too. Told me to tell you he’d stop by later on, and if you needed anything, he’d do whatever.” The waitress took our plates and left the bill.

“Yeah.” We paid, and left in silence. Carol married was one thing, but Pete getting to married to anyone other than Lauren was just unthinkable. About as likely as the Red Sox winning the World Series.




I opened the door to Sue's room and stopped dead. Joe bumped into me from behind. "What's up Mickey?" He tried to get a view over my shoulder.

A doctor was leaning over Sue, muttering something as he wrote something down that he apparently derived from one of the many electronic instruments surrounding her. He glanced up at the intrusion, and stuck his pen inside his pocket. "Good evening. May I help you?"

"I sure damn hope you can. I'm her brother. Can you tell me what's going on?" I may have been a little abrupt, but I didn't really care at this point. I just wanted to hear that my little sister was okay and that she was going to be okay.

"I certainly can, Mister Spillane. I am Doctor Armstrong. Let me start by offering my condolences. I knew your parents. They were good people." I didn't respond to this. Right now, all I wanted to hear was that Sue was going to be okay. "Your sister was very lucky, Mister Spillane."

"Lucky??" I yelled. "You call this lucky??" I gestured at the seemingly lifeless body of Sue, full of wires and looking very little like my vibrant care free sister.

"I certainly do. She is the sole survivor of a very gruesome accident. Have you seen what the others loo-, that is, she is lucky to be alive." He began to read off of his clipboard, detailing her injuries. Miss Spillane suffered second and third degree bruns over thirty percent of her body. She broke three bones in her left hand, one in her right leg and two in her right foot. She broke three ribs on her left side and one on her right. One of the ribs punctured her left lung, and her other lung collapsed. She has bruising and cuts over most of the rest of her body, suffered kidney failure, and did some sort of damage to her back. We're not sure what exactly, yet. We are waiting the results of some tests. Similarly for her head. We think she may have fractured her skull, but we are not sure. She suffered a deep cut to the back of her head and lost a lot of blood. Also, she has had severe internal bruising. Mister Spillane, if your sister were not in such good shape and were not so young she would have died before she came here. As it is, we've done everything we could just to keep her alive. She is in critical, but stable condition. We can't know the full extent of her injuries until the test results come back, but all in all she's lucky to have survived such massive injuries."

Jesus Christ. God damn shit. No wonder he said she was lucky. "Thank you Doctor. I appreciate everything you've done. I am just still soaking it all in, I guess. And I haven't had time to go see..." I trailed off. He nodded. He'd done this all before. "Is she sleeping, or just unconscious, or in a coma, or what?"

He hesitated. "She has been awake at times. Not in the last several hours however. She has been able to converse clearly, as she did with the gentleman standing behind you, but also at times shown very little awareness of where she was. We do not think there has been any brain trauma, but we really just do not know right now. We should know more tomorrow. But we don't expect her to wake up anytime soon." I didn't know how to take this at all. Part of me was ecstatic that she was just alive, but the other part of me wanted to cringe just lookign at her. All I knew was that if the other driver wasn't already dead, he would have been after I was through with him.

"Why don't you let me finish what I'm doing here. I believe there is someone in the waiting room who is, well, waiting for you."

"Huh? Oh, right. Right. Wait. Do you, um, do you know where my par...where they are?" That was the hardest thing I've had to say today. Oh my God, my parents.

He had a look of sympathy on his face. "I think they're at the morgue, Mister Spillane. You'll want to speak to the police officer who was first on scene, as well, I'm sure. The receptionist can give you more information." I stared at the floor. Well, nothing I could really do here. I took one last look at Sue, nodded to the Doctor, and turned and went out the door.

"Damn dude. That's a lot more serious than I thought." Joe walked down towards the waiting room with me. "I'm sorry, man."

"Yeah, me too. At least she's alive." God, I do not want to do this. I don't think I could handle seeing my parents right now, after all that I had just seen. Not tonight anyway. Tomorrow, maybe. God damn. This was not a good day.

"Mickey." Joe nudged me and jerked his head to one corner of the waiting room. "Look who it is." I glanced over, and saw Pete rising out of his chair. Pete. I haven't seen him since we graduated. Holy shit.

"Pete. Damn, it's good to see you." I shook his hand.

"You too, Mickey. I wish it was under different circumstances. I'm sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do for you..."

I shrugged. "Thanks Pete. Thanks." I glanced down at his left hand. Sure enough, there was a ring there. "Holy Mary mother of God! Joe wasn't bull shitting me! You are married!" I looked into Pete's eyes. As usual, I couldn't tell what was going on behind them. Now, I'm a real good judge of people, like I said. I can read people like nobody's business. I know when someone's lying to me, when they're holding back, and what they generally are planning to do. Maybe after I retire from my life as a private eye I'll go to Vegas and try my hand at being a professional poker player. Anyway, Pete was one of those people who was just totally unreadable. And he always told the truth. Which you'd think would make him a terrible poker player. But when he went in, everyone folded unless they had a damn good hand.

He looked right back and replied, "That is so. You will have to meet my wife later on."

I hesitated, not sure that I really wanted to ask what I really wanted to ask. Ah, the hell. With everything going on right now I could be excused a bit of rudeness. "What about Lauren?"

This time his eyes did do soemthing other than stare back into mine. They changed slightly. Showing a feeling of...was it pain? Yes. Pain, suffering, hurt, agony. I knew that look, as I knew it was in my own eyes right now. He closed his eyes briefly. "Things change. And sometimes some things just aren't meant to be." Then he added, in a much softer voice that I don't think I was supposed to here, "no matter how much you want them to be." He sighed. "That's not why I am here. I thought, all thigns considered, you would need some cheering up. What do you say to a night with us guys, huh? You, me, Joe, Eddie, anybody else we can find. The old group back together again. What do you say?" I heard Joe murmur his agreement, and a bit of a surprise.

"You sure your wife will let you out?" I teased. It was very easy to fall back into the old roles, even fi I normally would have said Lauren in that sentence.

Pete grinned crookedly. "I think in this case she'll understand."

Joe whistled. "Defying the old ball and chain already, Pete? She'll let you hear it when you come back, for sure." I laughed.

"No she won't. She will do no such thing. I am sure she will be happy about what we're doing." I raised an eyebrow at him.

"She already knows, does she?"

He glanced at me, and then sighed. "Yes, she does."

Joe howled with laughter. I grinned, and slapped Pete on the back. I really needed this time away from it all. Things would still be there for me tomorrow. Besides, who could resist a night ragging on Pete? And I knew there was something else going on with the whole love triangle thing. I'd get it out of him before too long. I always did.

NANOWRIMO Day 6: 1605 Words (7185 total)

The phone ringing woke me up from my nap. I was feeling decidedly less drunk, and decidedly less pleased about my situation again. Damn, I am such a fool. I picked up the phone and promptly dropped it on my foot. After swearing rather loudly, I picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver. “Yeah?”

“Mister Spillane? This is Margaret Daniels.” Damn. I hadn’t developed the pictures yet, and I had no idea what time it is.

“Call me Mickey. How are you doing this, uh, today?” I was going to say morning, but I knew it wasn’t morning anymore, and did not want to say evening.

“I am feeling rather anxious, Mister Spillane. Can you tell me about last night?” Damn woman won’t call me Mickey. Proper, proper, proper! Either that or she’s just afraid of what would happen if she got to know me. Yeah, that has to be it.

“I can indeed. I am afraid your suspicions were correct. Your husband is indeed breaking his marital vows. I have the pictures to prove it. And audio, though it is rather graphic.”

There was silence for a moment. Then she replied, “I see. With whom is he having an affair?”

Uh oh. “Well, he is not exactly having an affair.” How exactly do you tell someone that her husband is seeing a prostitute? Only way is straight forward, I suppose. “He went to a prostitute last night.” There was no silence this time.

“A pro-prostitute?? What?? Why? He, that, how, why? Am I not good enough for him? I could understand him having an affair and I could accept that, but this? Why? WHY? Why did he go to see a common slut? Did he really want sex that badly that he had to pay for it?? That god damn bastard! And that slut! Oh, Jesus.” She finally trailed off into silence. Hmm, seems the woman had some sort of emotions after all.

“I’m sorry Margaret. I’ll send you the pictures and tapes at your office.”

She did not respond. Well, she’d deal with it. I hung up the phone. She had taken it worse than I expected. I was expecting the response she gave in regards to her husband sleeping around, but not to the fact that he had gone to a prostitute. I wonder how she would feel if she knew I had arranged it to happen. She would probably get real pissed real fast. Well, she did tell me to find out if her husband was cheating on her using any means necessary. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

I got up and took my camera to the dark room in my office. Nice little fixture, that. Helps a lot in my business. I developed the pictures. Some of my finest work, really. Lacie was a great subject. Some of it was extremely graphic (maybe I should look into doing some work for the porno business. My pictures were better than a lot I’ve seen.), and clearly showed Mister Daniels enjoying himself. Poor bastard. I almost pitied him, for what he was about to go through. Divorces could be messy. I’ve been cleaned out more than once myself. And I made most of my living facilitating them.

I slipped the photos in a manila envelope along with copies of the audio recordings Lacie had provided. I kept a copy for myself, both for records sake and for personal review. I’d mail it when I went out tonight.

I knew there was something else I needed to do, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I glanced around my desk and my eyes settled onto my book of numbers. And then it hit me like a ceramic vase being thrown by an angry woman.

Joe! Of course! How could I have forgotten? I picked up the book and raced through it to his name and dialed the number. It rang once. And then again. “Come on, pick up the phone.” A third ring. “Damn it Joe, pick up the..”

“Hello?” a tired voice asked. This was the voice of my friend Joe, who was so anxious and upset a few hours ago (I think it was a few hours. What the hell time was it, anyway?).

“Joe, it’s Mickey.”

“Oh, thank God, Mickey. I have been leaving messages everywhere I could think of.” He sounded relieved that he was finally talking to me, but very apprehensive, as if he had something he really did not want to tell me. Which, unfortunately, I was certain was true.

“Yeah, I’ve been finishing up work on a case, plus I think I may be starting a new one.” I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with that other phone call. All I knew was that I did not want to find out about it or get involved in anyway. But I had a hunch that was not going to be possible. “What’s going on, Joe? Is something up with Sue?”

Joe hesitated. “I am not really sure I should be the one to tell you this.” Oh boy, I could tell whatever he had to tell me I was going to enjoy a hell of a lot!

“Damn it, somebody is going to have to tell me. Is Sue okay? Was she in an accident?”

“Yeah, there was an accident.” Shit. “But she is doing okay.” I did not like how he emphasized the word she. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell happened?

“Well that’s good. Who isn’t?”

“Your…, God, this is hard. Mickey, your parents are dead.”

Well. That was not what I was expecting.

“Jesus.” What else could I say?

“They were driving in their car with Sue. Got hit by a Truck head on. He drifted into their lane.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry Mickey.”

“Yeah.” I had heard my share of bad news, but this takes the cake. How do you react to your parents’ death? Especially when they are still in the prime of their lives and it was all just a sudden senseless accident. “Jesus. What about Sue? You said she’s okay?”

“Yeah. She was in the back, so I guess your parents received the brunt of it. She got messed up pretty bad. She is in stable condition, though.”

“Thank God. How is the other guy?” That bastard.

“He’s dead.” He paused for a moment. “They think he might have been drunk. The test results haven’t come back yet.”

“What? That Bastard!” God damn drunk. Even I never drove after I’d been drinking. Well, most of the time. “When did this happen?”

“This morning. About eight.”

“He was drunk at eight this morning? What the hell?” What kind of moron gets drunk in the morning? Well, THAT early in the morning. At least wait to a sensible hour, like eleven.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know.”

“Shit.” I closed my eyes.

“When are you coming out?” I like Joe. He knew I never liked coming back home, and I avoided it at all possible. But it wasn’t “are you coming out?” It was simply “when?”

“Right now. Well, in a few minutes, at least. I have to settle a couple of things first.”

“Right, I understand. Sue will really appreciate it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry man. If there’s anything I can do for you this week, help make arrangements, contact people, whatever. Let me know.”

“Yeah.” Joe was a good guy. I hung up the phone. I like my good byes short and sweet, or non existent if at all possible. Besides I had a lot of things to do.

I left a message for Lacie, telling her what happened, and that I’d be out of town for a little while. I left her Joe’s number if she needed to reach me for anything. I did not call Karl. I didn’t want him being able to reach me if the Red Sox lost tonight, as they were probably going to, because I didn’t want him calling to gloat and collect whatever fool amount I had bet. And if they won, there was no reason for him to call me, because they needed to still win a bunch if they were going to win it all. So either way, I didn’t want to talk to him. I sent the manila envelope to Margie at work. Nothing telling her what was going on. She didn’t need to talk to me about anything, and she knew where to send the money. I stopped by my dingy rat hole of an apartment and threw some random clothes in a bag. I didn’t really see what I threw in there, nor did I care. I did grab my old suit though. It needed to be cleaned, but I could do that when I got back home. I would need it for the funeral. Jesus. I left a note with my landlord, since hw as out (fortunately). I told him my parents had just been killed in an accident and that I would be gone for a little while. Hopefully the bastard would care enough to let my rent slide a couple weeks. I didn’t leave a number in case he didn’t.

I got in my brown 70 Chevy Impala. It was old, and rusty, but it got me where I needed to go. And it was just another junker, so no one remembered it. That was a real bonus in some of the places I had to go. Taking one last look at the dreary gray sky, I drove off to my home town in the not quite suburbs.

NANOWRIMO Day 5: 1973 Words (5580 total)

I decided to call Karl first. As much as Joe’s message sounded urgent and began to give me a really bad feeling, this business with Karl and the mysterious chick was more on my mind at the moment. Maybe because it was more intriguing. Maybe because I didn’t want to know what Joe was freaking out about. Maybe because I had an inkling and I knew I didn’t want to know. Maybe because I knew if I did call I would be hurrying off back home for whatever was going on. And maybe because I had a feeling that the mysterious woman would be angry if I didn’t do what she said. She didn’t sound like the kind of person you want angry at you. So I called Karl.

“Yeah.”

“Karl, it’s Mickey.” I mentioned before that I told everyone to call me Mickey. There’s a reason for that. It’s my name. My parents were big fans of the Mickey Spillane, the great detective/mystery writer. Funny, considering my choice of a profession. My ma used to say we were related to him (cousins or some such), but I think she was lying. Hell, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe I am related to a famous wealthy writer. That did have its possibilities. Anyway, they were both big fans of his, and considering their last name, they decided it would be totally awesome and sweet to name me after him. So woo for my name. Anyway…

“Hey, hey! Glad you called Mickey. Knew I could count on you to settle your scores. You’re a real class act, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Call it the philanthropist in me. But that’s not entirely why I am calling. But maybe it is. Shit, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” I suspected my mysterious benefactor either found some way to look into the future or had a way of fixing a game that looked totally one sided. And she had told Karl it would be in his best interest to give high returns to any who bet against such a sure thing.

“Oh?” He had a funny sound to that word, as if he knew what was coming but was trying to sound surprised and maybe a bit offended at the possibility I might be skipping town. Convincing, for anyone else. But I’m a real good judge of people. I have to be, in my line of work. I can tell whenever someone isn’t being straight with me. Whether it’s from natural instinct or just way too much poker I don’t know.

“Yeah, I got this phone call, see? From a broad.”

“You get phone calls from broads all the time. Isn’t that your line of work, man?” Still being cagey. Meh, might as well come out with it. As much as I do enjoy this game of conversing when both know exactly what’s going on but make it look like they don’t, I really needed to call Joe.

“This was different. Broad told me I should talk to you, tell you about the call, and tell you I want to take her advice. Said you’d know what was going on.”

“Did she now? Well, that is interesting. Okay, so you’ve told me what she said. Do you?” Karl will come to the point, when you’re direct. He likes the game too, but gets down to business when it’s time. A little quick, even for him, though. I still wasn’t sure about this whole situation.

“I don’t know if I should, considering I don’t even know what the hell the ‘advice’ is.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would make it difficult for you.” That smug little bastard. There’s nothing I hate more than someone who knows that he has the information you need, and who flaunts that fact over you.

“Well, what can you tell me?” Might as well try the direct approach. Sometimes it works. It wouldn’t here, but it’s at least worth a shot.

“Not a whole lot, Mickey. You could almost say I’ve been ‘sworn to secrecy’.” Asshole. “Sworn to secrecy” my ass.

“Uh huh.” I was not impressed. “Alright. You’re ‘sworn to secrecy’, what ever the hell that means. I don’t need to know whatever they’re holding over you to get your cooperation.” Word on the street is Karl was even more in debt for gambling than any of his clients, and that he does what he does so he doesn’t get what he always threatens them with. And while I’m not really afraid of anything Karl could do to me, as he was a sorry sack of shit who is too trumped up on his perception of his own “power”, his patrons were another matter. The rumors on their identities are all more absurd than the last, and none realistic. But if even the least of the rumors were true, you did not want to tangle with them. Your fate would not be pleasant. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even Karl. “Can you at least give me your advice on what I should do? Not any specifics,” as Karl started to sputter about secrecy, “just your honest to God opinion on what I should do. No bullshit. Tell me straight up.” The one nice thing about Karl is that he wouldn’t bullshit you if you saw through his shit. And I always see through it.

Karl hesitated for a few moments, then spoke up. “Well, it’s a tough call. For my own sake, I’d tell you to take it without hesitation. But…” he hesitated again, shuffling for what he wanted to say. Or what he could say. “It is risky. Damn risky. If I were a gambling man, I wouldn’t come anywhere near this.” I snorted at that. If he was a gambling man. I heard he once bet somebody on how many times a pigeon in the park would shit on one of the benches in an hour. The man would bet on anything. “It’s too much of a sure thing.”

“She did sound rather confident over the phone.”

“That’s the thing. If I didn’t know the situation, I would bet on them being right. They’ve never been wrong. About anything.”

“And I don’t know the stakes,” I agreed. Hmmm. Maybe I could suck a little bit more out of him before I made my decision. Rather, before I cemented my decision. “She, or they, must be suggesting I wager on something pretty unlikely.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“You can’t tell me anything?”

“Man, it’s more than my hide is worth. I can tell you afterwards, though,” he offered enthusiastically.

“Well, that’s a comfort. This way I can watch my ass go down as it happens. Perfect.”

“They just want to see how much balls you have, and to earn your trust, really. That’s all.”

“Funny way to try and earn my trust. Making me trust them.” I didn’t like the situation. But if it’s one thing I have, it’s the potential to be enormously reckless. And this was taking far too long. I needed to call Joe. And get the pictures developed and delivered to the soon to be Miss Daniels, as well. “Alright, eff it. I will take her, or their, or whoever’s, advice. Let’s do it.”

“Alright. If you are right, you won’t be sorry. But if you are not, you will be.”

“So what did I bet on, K-man?”

“Red Sox win the World Series,” he prompted, with obvious glee at my situation. He likes it when people suffer.

“The Red Sox do WHAT? They’re god damn down by god damn three effing games to the god damn Yankees! They’re not going to win the World Series!! Never!” Jesus. I was expecting something unlikely, but this? Damn dude. Damn. I am so hosed. “How much?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Shit.” There really wasn’t anything else to say. “well, it was a real pain in the ass talking to you Karl.”

“Any time, Mickey!” Cheerful smug ass god damn bastard.

“Drop dead.”

I hung up the phone.

Shit.




I felt better. It had been fifteen minutes and four double bourbons since I had foolishly bet who knows how much on The Red Sox winning the World Series. The friggin Red Sox. Now, that in itself makes me the stupidest person alive. But the fact that they were currently down three games to none (god damn NONE!) to the damn Yankees of all teams, makes it even more ludicrous. And if, and this is a HUGE if, an if as bag as the swing of Tiger Woods, if the Red Sox somehow defy every thing the Red Sox have ever been and actually win the next four games in a row (if), then they still have to get past the Cardinals. Assuming the Cardinals get to the World Series. Which they will. This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever done. But I still felt better than I did fifteen minutes ago. Mostly because I was having a hard time feeling anything. The borubons were beginning their assault on my senses, and I was loving every minute of it.

Though, now that I think about it (which is a hard thing to do, given my pending condition of complete inebriation), it might not be that ludicrous. Okay, now I am being stupid. To find any possibility of sense or rationale in what I did was the alcohol talking. What the hell. Let's hear what it says to say!

So, it might not be that ludicrous. Really! What better way to get me to trust her, or them (I still haven't figured that out yet), then to rpove they could make the Red Sox win. Holy shit. It's brilliant. Brilliant!

The combination of the exhaustion from my activities last night, the alcohol, and my own stupidity finally got to me. I leaned back in my chair and fell asleep.

NANOWRIMO Day 3: 1870 Words (3607 Total)

I grew up in the suburbs, living in the shadows of this great and wonderful city I call hell, I mean home. Well, not REALLY in the shadows. In the shadows in the sense that it was only about an hour’s drive from the city. And not really in the suburbs. Yeah, it was only about an hour’s drive from the city, but it was more like a little town that happened to be in the fringes of the suburbs. That sounds about right.

So anyway, my boyhood home. Small place. The kind of place where everybody knows everybody else. Great place for gossiping. My ma was a big fan of gossiping and took part in it at every chance she could. She had sources all across town, in every household. Maybe growing up with that is what led me to my current profession. It’s basically doing the same thing. Snooping around, looking in other people’s closets, digging through their trash cans, and finding their dirty laundry. Only I was paid to do it for my clients. Mostly to find out if a spouse is cheating. Though I do the occasional job for a missing person (mostly teenage daughters that ran away with their boyfriends), a stolen item (I got a great relationship with the pawnshop owners. They’ve helped me find plenty a hot item. And took a few off my hands, too.), even the occasional extra bit of help for the cops. That’s always interesting. It’s usually in exchange for not bringing me in on bogus charges. Extortion, breaking and entering, things like that. Sometimes you have to break the law to do my job, what can I say? I’ve even done some dirt digging for politicians. A month or two before the election, they invariably look for something to spring as the “October Surprise”. I hate god damn politicians more than I hate anything else. That’s my usual gig. Digging up dirt, looking for some brat who thinks she’s “in love”, (Don’t get me started on love. It’s full of shit) finding something that should have been thrown away anyway, and tracking down guys who avoid the law so I can avoid the law.

But once in a while, I get something different. Something that breaks the monotony and leads me chasing down a whisper of something big, something dangerous. Only happened twice before, and they account for two of the three times I’ve been shot. Both were hushed up by somebody. I never did get to the bottom of those. Just close enough to make me look like a tennis racket. I hate it when those damn things come around. I’m happy in my misery, and damned if I want to spend any more time in a hospital bed being fed jello by some toothless nurse. Fortunately, it’s been several years since I got in over my head. They’ve been nice, quiet years full of the same old shit.

I should have known it was too good to be true.




I opened the door to my office, and hung my coat and hat up. Water poured onto the rug, as usual. It was raining, as usual. It’s always raining in this city. I don’t remember the last time I saw the sun. It’s been at least a month. God damn rain. I sat down and pulled out my glass and my bottle of bourbon from my lower left drawer. Time for my eleven thirty morning drink. I spent the night at Lacie’s enjoying her company and got kicked out so she could get ready for her clients. She starts early and works late. Ten clients is a “slow day” for her. Damn, I don’t get ten clients in half a year! I collected the tapes as I left, I’d find time to enjoy them later, and told her to expect an envelope with her cut (thirty percent) in a week or so. We’ve got a sweet deal going. She gets more clients, a cut of my pay, and some companionship during the night (It’s funny. A woman like her doing what she does and she wants companionship at night. Most of her clients come to her for “companionship”.). I get the evidence I need to facilitate my income, a reliable source of information, and the same companionship.

I’ve wondered about what exactly our “relationship” is. It started out as a business relationship, pure and simple. But she needed company one night after getting the shit beat out of her by one of the clients I provided her. Who was I to deny her anything, with her sobbing, bruised, and bloody on the floor. I gave her a bath, made her a couple drinks (Always vodka sour. In her broken state, she said it made her feel less of a whore and more like a sophisticated woman. Staring at me between sobs and coughs, her eyes expected the mockery, the revulsion she feels for herself. I didn’t laugh. She’s more of a woman than almost any I know.), made her laugh a bit and put her to bed. She asked me to stay, that she’d even be with me for nothing, but I refused. I just stayed up all night and watched over her. I felt bad, because I had caused this. Well, I took care of that bastard through his wife in court (she got everything), and a couple weeks later, personally, in a bar. That was a time the cops did me a favor instead of the other way around. They looked the other way, and some even helped out a little. Lacie’s real popular with the cops. The next time I was over, she thanked me, kissed me, and things went from there. I’d say we were friends, but friends don’t exactly do what we do. But we could never be dating, considering what she does as a profession. And it’s not like I’ve been faithful to her anyway, if there was really anything to be faithful to. I still had my flings and occasional real relationships that always ended in disaster. Our relationship is the only one I’ve never screwed up. Maybe because it’s not anything. Who the hell knows.

Then something pulled me out of day dreaming. A flashing something. The light on my answering machine. I had a message? What the hell?

No.

I had several messages.

I never got any messages, let alone more than one. I poured myself a third drink (I had another during that contemplation crap) and pushed play.

“Message one. Today, 8:32 A.M. ‘Mister Spillane, this is Margeret Daniels. I want to know what happened last night. Please return my call at work, today. That is all.’” That’s the broad. She’s always so prim and proper. “Mister Spillane” my ass. I told her to call me Mickey, that everyone calls me Mickey. But it’s still “Mister Spillane”. Bitch. Maybe that’s why he’s been cheating. She’d be a cold one in bed. I revised my original desire to be with her. Be like being with a dead fish. Well, she’d be happy with the results of last night, I’m sure. I’ll call her later this afternoon after I developed the pictures.

“Message deleted. Message two. Today, 8:47 A.M. ‘Hey Mickey! It’s Karl. Listen, you still owe three g’s, and we don’t want to make this messy. Give me a buzz back and we’ll talk.’” My bookie, Karl Banks. I owed him some from a couple bad bets, and they’d start going up soon. Maybe I’ll have enough after getting the broad her pictures. Maybe I’ll just make a couple more bets to try and even things out. He’d definitely be getting a call back, but after I spoke with Margie (she didn’t take too kindly to that name).

“Message deleted.”

I had no idea how much these next two messages would change my life.

“Message three. Today, 10:13 A.M. ‘Good morning, Mickey. I know you are not in right now. You are no doubt still earning your next payment to Mister Banks from the soon to be Miss Daniels. As this will not be enough to settle all of your other expenses, we have a proposition for you. The work is of a sensitive nature, so I will contact you at a later date. As a show of our good faith, contact Mister Banks. Tell him about this phone call, and that you wish to accept my advice. He will know what this means and make the appropriate notation in his book. Do this immediately. Give Miss Boudreau my regards.’”

I sat still for a few moments taking it all in. Then I replayed the message. Woman. Late twenties, early thirties. Italian. And she knew a lot about me. She knew Margie, Karl, my state of affairs with Karl, the state of all my other affairs, and somebody named Boudreau. Boudreau, Boudreau…I can’t think of any Boudreaus. Hmm. Well, perhaps Boudreau is Lacie’s last name? “Lacie Boudreau.” Hmmm. Flows well. Sounds sophisticated too, like she always wanted. Hell, I can’t think of anyone else it could be. I made a mental note to ask her about that next time I spoke with her. Though she wouldn’t like it. I trust her as much as I could trust anybody, which is not a lot. I don’t have much capacity for trust anymore. I get along with trust as well as I do with marriage. Hell, it’s because of marriage that I don’t get along with trust. Work of a sensitive nature, eh? I wonder if this is something to do with a politician. Sounds like this mystery woman has a hand in some sort of shady dealing with Karl to fix my affairs. Well, just because it’s dirty doesn’t mean it’s not a politician. Hell, it’s more likely to be. Work of a sensitive nature…hmmm. The message was very well crafted to avoid any thing incriminating. Interesting! Well, I might as well call Karl. This is something to examine a few more times, though.

“Message saved. Message four. Today, 11:00 A.M. ‘Mickey, pick up the phone. Christ, you’re not there, are you? Damn it, pick up the phone! … Jesus. Mickey, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Sue asked me to call you and gave me your numbers. You weren’t at home, so I thought, maybe you were here, but. Damn. Call me. It’s Joe.’” What in the hell? Joe is one of my best friends from high school. I haven’t spoken to him in about three years. About the last time I was back home. What the hell has him so upset? Wait, Sue asked him to call me? Why couldn’t she call me if it was so bloody important? Sue was my baby sister. Still living at home. Jesus. I’m going to have to call him. I just need to find Joe’s damn phone number.

“Message deleted. There are no more new messages remaining. You have one saved message.”

I stopped rummaging through my drawers at that. One saved message. The mysterious woman told me to call Karl immediately. Who should I call first?

I found my book of numbers and reached for the phone.

NANOWRIMO Day 2:

Cancelled due to election. Blogger was being funky, so update is not on time. (Obviously)

NANOWRIMO Day 1: 1737 words

It was a dark and stormy night. No, really. It was! Pretty shitty out, actually. The rain was coming down in waves. If I didn't know otherwise, I'd have sworn I was in Japan in the middle of typhoon season. Not that I'd ever been to Japan, mind you. I don't travel a lot. In fact, the only two places I've ever been are the town I grew up in in the suburbs and the city itself, where I live now. Though we did take a field trip in high school to the state capital once, to see our representatives and governor and that whole "government at work" crap. I didn't even pay attention. Mostly snuck out of the tours and smoked with the homeless guys. So I don't travel much at all. I just watch a lot of TV. I have to. Otherwise I'd go mad.

You see, my job entails a lot of waiting. A whole hell of a lot. Waiting for calls. Waiting for leads. Waiting for the cops to stop chasing me. Waiting for the landlord to stop knocking at my door demanding rent. I do a lot of waiting. Mostly waiting for calls. I'd hire a secretary so she could take my calls for me and I could go do something else more productive, but that wouldn't really work. I don't get enough calls to warrant someone needing to take them, that little red light on my answering machine is never blinking, and there isn't really anything productive I could be doing except drinking (which is arguably not productive. I wouldn't argue it, I enjoy it. But you probably would, wouldn't you, you bastard?), and I couldn't exactly afford to pay a secretary anyway. Hell, I've already said I can't afford to pay my rent. Or my bookie. But that's another problem I don't want to talk about right now. I have too many damn problems.

So I wait a lot. And I watch TV a lot. And I smoke a lot. And I drink a lot. Mostly all at once. Waiting for the damn phone to ring, watching some crap on TV about typhoons in Japan.

Damn it's wet outside. And too damn cold. It's too wet to light a cigarette. Christ, I need a cigarette. All this waiting around for this asshole to finish up with his whore. Then I can get out of this god damn miserable weather and go somewhere that's not reminding me of god damn Japanese weather patterns. God damn waiting. I already got most of the pictures I need. Just need to get the finishing touches so the broad can have more evidence.

Ah, the bastards done now. Yeah, pay her like the gentleman you are. Hope you pay her better than you tipped the waitress for that crappy cup of coffee. (He likes two sugars, two creams, two sweet n low packets, and a partridge in a pear tree. I like mine black. Like a real man. Man, that coffee sucked.) Here we are. *click* *click* *click* Man, you are such a dick. That wife of yours is going to be pissed. But she was right. She's a hot broad, too. Why do you need to get your kicks with a prostitute when you have that sharing your bed every night? Man, I just don't understand some people. That broad almost made me wish I were married to her. But I don't get married. Marriage and me don't work, see? I know from experience. Three of 'em. Bloody waste of time. But a broad like that...

Yeah, use that umbrella to avoid this ass weather. Get in that taxi. Moron. If you're gonna cheat, at least let the rain wash the smell of you before you get in. That way you have plenty of time to dry off in the cab before you get home. And she might actually buy your "I was working late" garbage. Amateur.

I tied the plastic bag that had been around the camera shut. The rain wouldn't ruin any of the film. I'd develop them, the broad would get her evidence, he'd get the boot and the divorce papers, she'd get the house and the kids, and I'd get my cash for a job well done. But first, a little visit with Lacie.

Every time you meet a ho, she always has some lame ass name that's supposed to be sexy. Like Angel, or Trixie. I did know an Edith once. Man. Whoever heard of a whore named Edith? Edith is your aunt who pinches your cheeks every time she's sees you, no matter if you're five or forty. Ugh. Lacie was, as I'm sure is fairly obvious, the name of the prostitute who is in the process of cleaning herself up after doing her job. I don't think Lacie is her real name. Too much like the rest to be real. I've never asked, though I do wonder sometimes. Hell, maybe it's Edith.

Walking up the steps to Lacie's building, I take out a key. Her key. Now, I don't make the mistake some people make about keeping all their keys on one key ring. at least, not when I go out. I only take what I know I'm going to need. That way, I never have to fumble for the right key. That's a good way to waste just enough time to get yourself shot. Though it would come in handy if you have to deal with any unpleasant surprises. But I plan for those, too. I let myself in with the key. Her key. Not Lacie's key. Lacie and I have an understanding, but it only goes so far. Besides, she knows I can get into the building when I want to, or at least need to. She just doesn't know how. Nor will she. I replace the key. Her key.

Shaking my head to clear away bad memories and a whole lot of wet, I trudge up the stairs. The memories are still there though. So's the wetness. Stupid rain. I reach her apartment and let myself in. She almost never keeps it unlocked. Just when she knows exactly when I'm coming in. Like I said, we have an understanding. I may be able to get in the building, and I'll go in when I'm expected, and probably in the event of an emergency, but she doesn't want me to be able to come and go as I please. Shutting the door, I place my soggy hat and sopping coat on a rack on the wall. They're still dripping profusely, beginning to form a puddle on the floor. But it doesn't matter. There's enough wetness from sweat, tears, blood, and assorted other things in this place that a puddle won't make a difference. The rug soaks them all up without prejudice. Rugs don't give a damn what you do to them, because all they just do is sit there and wait for the next thing to happen so they can do their job and absorb it. I like rugs. Remind me of me. Though sometimes I don't like them too much. Remind me too much of me.

The shower's running. Hot water. The hottest you can get out of the faucet and then some. Lacie likes her water hot. Doesn't burn her. She's used her body so many times it's numb to that kind of thing. Just heats up the cold exterior that she uses every time she works. Gotta do something to stay sane. She withdraws into herself and pretends to be elsewhere, soaking in just enough to know what her clients want to do and what they like and don't like. Better than soaking in what spills on the rug. Or soaking in facts about Japanese weather, I guess. I fix myself a drink. Not really difficult. A double shot of bourbon on the rocks. As I down it quickly, the shower stops. I pour myself another and fix Lacie's drink. Vodka Sour. It's a sophisticated drink, I'm told. A sophisticated drink for a sophisticated lady.

Ha!

I walk over to the couch and sit down. Right on cue, Lacie walks out of the bathroom in her not quite shear robe, skin still glistening and her hair still dripping. She never dries off. I like it better that way. So does she. She takes her drink and joins me on the couch.

"Get what you need?" she asks.

"Pretty much. He say anything?" We always conduct our business before pleasure. And this is business. Two clients settling into their routine every so often meetings. Not clients like she has clients. We're old business associates. And sex isn't the business between us. Information is.

"Just the usual. How hot I made him. How much I was going to enjoy this. No mention of his wife. Kept the wedding ring in his pocket. He put it on as he left."

"So don't bother listening to the tapes?"

"Oh, you can listen. And you know you will. Just don't bother trying to write anything down. You can enjoy them." As she says this, she gestures to one of the tape recorders, this one hidden in the plant next to me.

"Alright. I'll get them when I leave. He do anything weird that'll help in court?"

"No luck there. Straight missionary shooter all the way. Which is kind of weird, since they usually come to me for what their wives won't let them do."

"Mmm." The broad will just have to go without any evidence of deviant sexual practices as leverage with her soon to be ex husband. "Alright, sounds good. He leave as little as I think?"

"Yeah. Cheap bastard. Fortunately you'll make up for that, won't you?" She laughed as she finished her drink.

"You'll get your usual cut. For your information." Prostitution may be illegal, but paying somebody for information certainly wasn't. Convenient loop hole. I set my drink down.

"Of course. Well, I guess that's that then. Nice doing business with you." I replied in kind, and we shook hands, as was customary. "I'm going to retire for the night, now." She let her robe slip to the floor as she made her way to the bedroom. The business part of our deal was concluded.

"Good night, Lacie." I finished my drink and followed her in.

Like I said, we have an understanding.