PART XI – 13 HOURS
It was time for coffee. Kris poured a cup and kept the Irish out, while The Detective sketched out what his next step would be on a bar napkin. When he finished, he stared at it until he was sure he’d hit all the right points. He then lit the napkin with his lighter and let it burn out the ashtray. It was more ritual than necessity.
“I need another favor,” he said as he made his first tentative upper lip temperature test of the coffee.
“You’re startin’ to rack up one hell of a tab.”
“You know I’m good for it. I need you to give me a call in about an hour and a half.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to dinner with one of the lab techs and need an out.”
Kris shook her head and laughed. “You’re such a bastard.”
“That’s the idea,” he said returning her smile. He dialed the tech’s number and set the date, then he made a reservation at the nicest restaurant he could think of.
Somehow the tech had had time to spruce herself up. She looked good. The Detective almost rethought what he was doing. She waited until the wine arrived to give him what he wanted.
“Ran the DNA.”
“No match.”
“No match.”
“There’s something deeply wrong here.”
“I hope you mean with the DNA,” she said, giving him a sad look that turned naughty as her eyes rose back above the rim of the glass.
The Detective swallowed silently, “How deep is the sample pool?”
“It’s limited to tests taken for forensic reasons. If they think you’ve done something wrong, or you have then we have a sample.”
“Military?”
“Have you ever seen me wearing boots?”
“No, but I’d like to.” He throws her a suggestive eyebrow. She giggles and takes another sip of wine.
“We don’t have access to that.”
“Who does?”
The Tech gives him a look like he might not be as smart as she’d always thought. “The Military.”
“You’re just being smart.”
“There seemed to be a vacuum for a moment. I felt obligated to fill it.”
The Detective almost chokes on his wine as he feels her foot trying to crawl up his pants leg. The situation was getting out of hand fast. Luckily the waiter arrived, just as The Detective felt it necessary to place his napkin in his lap.
Kris called halfway through the calamari ala planche appetizer. “Fine,” he faked being annoyed. “Yeah...yeah, I’ll be there. Thanks for the interruption.” He slammed the phone off and gave her a sorry look.
“Duty calls?”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta’ go.”
“I understand.”
He got up and dropped his napkin in the chair. “Look, you stay and finish.” He pulled some bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. “I’m really sorry.” He left without looking back.
The Tech watched him go and then looked toward the bar. A woman had turned around and was looking her way. She got up from the bar and walked toward the table with a glass of wine in her hand. She picked up the napkin and fluidly seated herself and placed it in her lap.
“I thought you said he’d leave before the appetizer.”
“Quit whining, you get a free meal don’t you.”
“Yeah, but I wanted squid.”
“There’s still some left.” The tech pushed the plate across and picked up the money.
“What’s for dinner?”
“You’ll be having the squab. Now be quite and drink your wine while I feel sad about being right.”
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
THE DETECTIVE [PART X]
PART X – 17 HOURS
He checked in with the receptionist as he drove toward the bar. He needed to think and he always did his best thinking when his brain was primed. Something about the threat of impending cellular genocide always brought out the best in his grey matter.
The receptionist picked up on the third ring. “Homicide,” she answered in her lilting tone.
“It’s me. Anything?”
“I’ve gotten 43 auto vacation responses, 12 bounce backs for non active addresses, three “No’s”, 1 threat of legal action for Police harassment, and a the filtered junk mail doubled in the last hour.”
“You do understand that when I asked if you had anything I meant anything useful?”
“Yep.”
“So you’re be overly efficient to punish me for making you sit there and watch the screen until your eyes bleed.”
“Yep.”
“Call me if you get anything,” he hung up before she could answer. He then dialed the bar.
“Last Call,” said Kris, sounding bored to tears.
“I’m coming in hot. Prime the pumps and clean off my stool.”
“How far out?”
“Two minutes.”
“Got it.”
He hit the parking lot without slowing down and rolled right into his favorite spot. He slapped the breaks and his bumper blew a kiss at the wall. It was starting to get good. With a spring in his step and a radioactive grain of rice in his pocket he hit the front door. His irises went from pinholes to gun barrels so fast he went blind for a second. He took his sunglasses off and the familiar shapes returned. Kris was smiling large with a fresh glass of beer in her hand. He made it to his Stool before she dropped it on a coaster.
“You must really be flummoxed to be thinking this early.”
“I was, but it’s getting more clear with each passing hour.” He took a sip from the beer and let it settle on his tongue for a minute. His brain woke up and he smiled and swallowed.
The bar was almost completely empty. He’d thought it would be, which was what he wanted. He needed Kris to help him lay some things out. She was good for that. His mind was non-linear, but hers was a straight line. She’d open a mental file and as he’d talk she’d slot everything into order and read it back to him without writing anything down. While he’d be digressing, she’d keep it on track and ask him questions to fill in the gaps. None of it seemed to bother her either. She liked playing detective as much as he liked being one. If he ever quit and put up a shingle, he’d make sure she was pert of it.
“Ready?” He asked, knowing full well that she was.
“Go.”
It took three beers and a few paused moments for her to attend to other customers before he was finished. She seemed to chew over it for a minute and then he saw the click in her eye as the line finished coalescing. But then her eyebrows dropped and he could see a question building.
“Why you?” She asked slightly concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Why you? Why did they choose you?”
“Luck of the draw, I was the one who answered the phone.”
“Then they must have called more than once, because they wanted you.”
“What makes you think that?”
Kris shrugged her shoulders, “it’s in the line. They’re making a statement. They’ve set the table for homicide, yet there’re no bodies, just teeth. You telling me they just lucked into the only detective in the city who wouldn’t have already thrown it down from Homicide to make some beat cop cry. They wanted you. They knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“No, but you’ve felt it the whole time.”
The Detective dropped his head, “I need another beer.”
He pulled out his cell phone and called the receptionist. “Nothing,” she said.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“I hooked in a caller ID display so I could harass you directly.”
“Thanks. I need you to get an incoming call log and match the number from the primary case call to any calls made from the same number to the precinct in the days preceding.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“You’ve got time. While you’re at it go ahead and pull a reverse look up on the number as well.” This time she hung up first.
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
He checked in with the receptionist as he drove toward the bar. He needed to think and he always did his best thinking when his brain was primed. Something about the threat of impending cellular genocide always brought out the best in his grey matter.
The receptionist picked up on the third ring. “Homicide,” she answered in her lilting tone.
“It’s me. Anything?”
“I’ve gotten 43 auto vacation responses, 12 bounce backs for non active addresses, three “No’s”, 1 threat of legal action for Police harassment, and a the filtered junk mail doubled in the last hour.”
“You do understand that when I asked if you had anything I meant anything useful?”
“Yep.”
“So you’re be overly efficient to punish me for making you sit there and watch the screen until your eyes bleed.”
“Yep.”
“Call me if you get anything,” he hung up before she could answer. He then dialed the bar.
“Last Call,” said Kris, sounding bored to tears.
“I’m coming in hot. Prime the pumps and clean off my stool.”
“How far out?”
“Two minutes.”
“Got it.”
He hit the parking lot without slowing down and rolled right into his favorite spot. He slapped the breaks and his bumper blew a kiss at the wall. It was starting to get good. With a spring in his step and a radioactive grain of rice in his pocket he hit the front door. His irises went from pinholes to gun barrels so fast he went blind for a second. He took his sunglasses off and the familiar shapes returned. Kris was smiling large with a fresh glass of beer in her hand. He made it to his Stool before she dropped it on a coaster.
“You must really be flummoxed to be thinking this early.”
“I was, but it’s getting more clear with each passing hour.” He took a sip from the beer and let it settle on his tongue for a minute. His brain woke up and he smiled and swallowed.
The bar was almost completely empty. He’d thought it would be, which was what he wanted. He needed Kris to help him lay some things out. She was good for that. His mind was non-linear, but hers was a straight line. She’d open a mental file and as he’d talk she’d slot everything into order and read it back to him without writing anything down. While he’d be digressing, she’d keep it on track and ask him questions to fill in the gaps. None of it seemed to bother her either. She liked playing detective as much as he liked being one. If he ever quit and put up a shingle, he’d make sure she was pert of it.
“Ready?” He asked, knowing full well that she was.
“Go.”
It took three beers and a few paused moments for her to attend to other customers before he was finished. She seemed to chew over it for a minute and then he saw the click in her eye as the line finished coalescing. But then her eyebrows dropped and he could see a question building.
“Why you?” She asked slightly concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Why you? Why did they choose you?”
“Luck of the draw, I was the one who answered the phone.”
“Then they must have called more than once, because they wanted you.”
“What makes you think that?”
Kris shrugged her shoulders, “it’s in the line. They’re making a statement. They’ve set the table for homicide, yet there’re no bodies, just teeth. You telling me they just lucked into the only detective in the city who wouldn’t have already thrown it down from Homicide to make some beat cop cry. They wanted you. They knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“No, but you’ve felt it the whole time.”
The Detective dropped his head, “I need another beer.”
He pulled out his cell phone and called the receptionist. “Nothing,” she said.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“I hooked in a caller ID display so I could harass you directly.”
“Thanks. I need you to get an incoming call log and match the number from the primary case call to any calls made from the same number to the precinct in the days preceding.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“You’ve got time. While you’re at it go ahead and pull a reverse look up on the number as well.” This time she hung up first.
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Nerd Prom
Well, I had a good day at SDCC (Nerd Prom) yesterday. I’m hoping next year I can spent more days. I drove down at 6:30 AM and got there around 9:00. I found parking after about twenty minutes and walked the short distance to the Civic Center. I got my badge amazingly quickly. They have a room of about 100 people on laptops checking people in and printing up badges.
My fist stop was to locate my friend Joe in Artist’s alley. I’ve known him for about 20 years, but haven’t seen him in 15. I call or e-mail him a couple times a year to keep in touch. It was really good to see him and we chatted on and off as I came back around to his table every two hours or so.
With that done I found Warren Ellis just as his first signing was beginning and got my copy of CROOKED LITTLE VEIN signed as well as the first issue of DOKTOR SLEEPLESS, of which I purchased the special SDCC edition.. He was exceptionally gracious. I actually think it was because it was only noon and he was still stunned from having to wake up and wasn’t quite working on all fronts. There were only two consumed Red Bulls near him so he was probably still asleep.
After that I noticed an old friend from high school, Ben Garant, was doing a signing for his new movie BALLS OF FURY, for which I had not obtained a wristband earlier in the morning, so I sat outside the room and waited for him to emerge. It was funny because the Paparazzi, about 5 camera laden professionals, lost interest before I did and left without shots. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but he hadn’t changed a lick even though he’s now quite famous in the world of TV and Movies. He gave me his e-mail so hopefully we can get back in touch. He hadn’t changed at all and it felt really natural to talk to him again even for the few minutes he had to spare.
I hit the exhibit floor a few more times, but by 4:00 I was pretty much done. I wanted to stay for the Warren Ellis talk but it wasn’t until 9:00 PM. without a hotel room and nothing to really do for the next five hours, since most of the panels I was interested in were “sold out”. I’d never been to SDCC, so I wasn’t on my game with regards to getting the passes required earlier when I’d arrived. So, since I had to drive back to LA and I couldn’t go and grab a few drinks, I went ahead and left. I got back to LA around 7:20 and then went out for a few drinks.
All in all it was a really great day. It would have been better if I’d known more people so I could hang-out, but what are you going to do. I took a few pictures, but most ended up slightly out of focus. So I’ve added the few that turned out OK.
Weta Ray Gun Display:
RANDOM SHOTS:
More photos can be found here:
My fist stop was to locate my friend Joe in Artist’s alley. I’ve known him for about 20 years, but haven’t seen him in 15. I call or e-mail him a couple times a year to keep in touch. It was really good to see him and we chatted on and off as I came back around to his table every two hours or so.
With that done I found Warren Ellis just as his first signing was beginning and got my copy of CROOKED LITTLE VEIN signed as well as the first issue of DOKTOR SLEEPLESS, of which I purchased the special SDCC edition.. He was exceptionally gracious. I actually think it was because it was only noon and he was still stunned from having to wake up and wasn’t quite working on all fronts. There were only two consumed Red Bulls near him so he was probably still asleep.
After that I noticed an old friend from high school, Ben Garant, was doing a signing for his new movie BALLS OF FURY, for which I had not obtained a wristband earlier in the morning, so I sat outside the room and waited for him to emerge. It was funny because the Paparazzi, about 5 camera laden professionals, lost interest before I did and left without shots. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but he hadn’t changed a lick even though he’s now quite famous in the world of TV and Movies. He gave me his e-mail so hopefully we can get back in touch. He hadn’t changed at all and it felt really natural to talk to him again even for the few minutes he had to spare.
I hit the exhibit floor a few more times, but by 4:00 I was pretty much done. I wanted to stay for the Warren Ellis talk but it wasn’t until 9:00 PM. without a hotel room and nothing to really do for the next five hours, since most of the panels I was interested in were “sold out”. I’d never been to SDCC, so I wasn’t on my game with regards to getting the passes required earlier when I’d arrived. So, since I had to drive back to LA and I couldn’t go and grab a few drinks, I went ahead and left. I got back to LA around 7:20 and then went out for a few drinks.
All in all it was a really great day. It would have been better if I’d known more people so I could hang-out, but what are you going to do. I took a few pictures, but most ended up slightly out of focus. So I’ve added the few that turned out OK.
Weta Ray Gun Display:
RANDOM SHOTS:
More photos can be found here:
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Detective [Part IX]
PART IX – 19 Hours
It wasn’t something he’d really thought about before he did it, because if he had he would have talked himself out of it. Destroying evidence was not really his style. The tooth made a nice cracking sound as the butt of his gun hit it. He’d taken out the bullets before he’d used his gun as hammer. He knew a guy who’d added an air vent to his scrotum trying to crack walnuts at a bar. Luckily the bullet had missed his testes, but they fell out into the crotch of his pants. Everyone called him “lint balls” after that.
As the tech looked on, The Detective brushed aside the pieces of tooth until he found what he was looking for. He wasn’t sure what it would look like, but he’d read enough Sci-Fi as a kid to imagine it having a blinking red light on it. It didn’t of course. What would be the point? It’d been in a tooth.
It looked like a piece of double thick black rice. “We could have just dug out the amalgam and pulled it out,” said the tech looking over his shoulder.
“Where’s the fun in that?” The Detective picked up the grain with a pair of tweezers and stuck it in a small glass vial.
“What are going to do with it?”
“Find out who put it there.”
“Aliens. Your perp is probably a rogue Man in Black.”
“You’re an idiot. Get the rest of them pulled apart and document everything the best you can. If any more come through here, repeat as necessary. And don’t start passing this around. I may have just stepped in some deep stink. You want to try and keep it from rubbing off on you.”
The Detective walked out wondering which branch of the military it belonged to. It was all starting to come together. His friend The Dentist said he knew something. He’d been in the Army. Maybe he’d been involved and could give him a list or something of the poor guinea pigs who were now getting their teeth ripped out. Then again it was getting awfully easy, really fast.
Outside he lit a cigarette and looked up into the sky. What the hell was a low-level radiation source doing in these teeth? It wasn’t even strong enough to be tracked by satellite. What good was it for? He took a drag and walked to his car. It was electronic entry. He pushed the button and the car unlocked. As the clack of the door lock disengaging entered his ear, it set off a firestorm of neuron activity. He didn’t know what it was for, but he was willing to bet the black rice was a key. Screw fingerprints and iris scans, a lock with a sensor designed to detect a specific type of low-level radiation didn’t sound implausible. It was the best idea he’d had all day.
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
It wasn’t something he’d really thought about before he did it, because if he had he would have talked himself out of it. Destroying evidence was not really his style. The tooth made a nice cracking sound as the butt of his gun hit it. He’d taken out the bullets before he’d used his gun as hammer. He knew a guy who’d added an air vent to his scrotum trying to crack walnuts at a bar. Luckily the bullet had missed his testes, but they fell out into the crotch of his pants. Everyone called him “lint balls” after that.
As the tech looked on, The Detective brushed aside the pieces of tooth until he found what he was looking for. He wasn’t sure what it would look like, but he’d read enough Sci-Fi as a kid to imagine it having a blinking red light on it. It didn’t of course. What would be the point? It’d been in a tooth.
It looked like a piece of double thick black rice. “We could have just dug out the amalgam and pulled it out,” said the tech looking over his shoulder.
“Where’s the fun in that?” The Detective picked up the grain with a pair of tweezers and stuck it in a small glass vial.
“What are going to do with it?”
“Find out who put it there.”
“Aliens. Your perp is probably a rogue Man in Black.”
“You’re an idiot. Get the rest of them pulled apart and document everything the best you can. If any more come through here, repeat as necessary. And don’t start passing this around. I may have just stepped in some deep stink. You want to try and keep it from rubbing off on you.”
The Detective walked out wondering which branch of the military it belonged to. It was all starting to come together. His friend The Dentist said he knew something. He’d been in the Army. Maybe he’d been involved and could give him a list or something of the poor guinea pigs who were now getting their teeth ripped out. Then again it was getting awfully easy, really fast.
Outside he lit a cigarette and looked up into the sky. What the hell was a low-level radiation source doing in these teeth? It wasn’t even strong enough to be tracked by satellite. What good was it for? He took a drag and walked to his car. It was electronic entry. He pushed the button and the car unlocked. As the clack of the door lock disengaging entered his ear, it set off a firestorm of neuron activity. He didn’t know what it was for, but he was willing to bet the black rice was a key. Screw fingerprints and iris scans, a lock with a sensor designed to detect a specific type of low-level radiation didn’t sound implausible. It was the best idea he’d had all day.
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
That's right, they work for us
From the Washington Post via the BBC via questionable sources:
Each Wore a Tiny Trench Coat
Also in the animal world . . . From the BBC translators, an editorial by Saleh Eskandari headlined "spying squirrels," published July 10 by the Iranian newspaper Resalat.
"A few weeks ago, 14 squirrels equipped with espionage systems of foreign intelligence services were captured by [Iranian] intelligence forces along the country's borders. These trained squirrels, each of which weighed just over 700 grams, were released on the borders of the country for intelligence and espionage purposes. According to the announcement made by Iranian intelligence officials, alert police officials caught these squirrels before they could carry out any task.
"Fixing GPS devices, bugging instruments and advanced cameras in the bodies of trained animals like squirrels, mice, hamsters, etc, are among modern methods of collecting intelligence. Given the fast speed and the special physical features of these animals, they provide special capabilities for spying operations. Once the animals return to their place of origin, the intelligence gathered by them is then offloaded. . . ."
Always thought there was something squirrelly about those folks.
Each Wore a Tiny Trench Coat
Also in the animal world . . . From the BBC translators, an editorial by Saleh Eskandari headlined "spying squirrels," published July 10 by the Iranian newspaper Resalat.
"A few weeks ago, 14 squirrels equipped with espionage systems of foreign intelligence services were captured by [Iranian] intelligence forces along the country's borders. These trained squirrels, each of which weighed just over 700 grams, were released on the borders of the country for intelligence and espionage purposes. According to the announcement made by Iranian intelligence officials, alert police officials caught these squirrels before they could carry out any task.
"Fixing GPS devices, bugging instruments and advanced cameras in the bodies of trained animals like squirrels, mice, hamsters, etc, are among modern methods of collecting intelligence. Given the fast speed and the special physical features of these animals, they provide special capabilities for spying operations. Once the animals return to their place of origin, the intelligence gathered by them is then offloaded. . . ."
Always thought there was something squirrelly about those folks.
Spam Subject Line
This is my favorite spam subject line for the day.
"She will love you more than any other guy"
There is something perfect about it. You can read it so many different ways.
"She will love you more than any other guy"
There is something perfect about it. You can read it so many different ways.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
HP 7 and Nerd Prom
100 pages into HP 7 and one familiar is dead, one member of the Order is dead, and one Weasley has lost an ear. I'm wrapping up the week by traveling to San DIego on Saturday for a fun filled day of Nerd Prom (SDCC). It'll be my first time, to Nerd Prom, or anything even having the name of Prom. I'm going to try and get a Warren Ellis autograph as well as try and get into the Joss Wheden session. Now all I need to do is find a parking spot in San Diego. It's looking like the best option is parking outside downtown and taking the shuttle. It's all that's keeping me going this week.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Spam subject line
This is my favorite spam subject line for the day.
"Get a visit from the big dick fairy."
There is something perfect about it. You can read it so many different ways.
"Get a visit from the big dick fairy."
There is something perfect about it. You can read it so many different ways.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
MAD MEN
It's been a while since I've seen as solid a dramatic pilot as MAD MEN on AMC. I highly suggest you check it out. Don't forget your Lucky Strikes and your hat.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Detective [Part VIII]
PART VIII - 24 HOURS
24 hours, 1400 minutes, 86400 seconds and he’d just wasted 7 minutes smoking a cigarette. 1393 minutes left. The Detective lit another cigarette. He still had time. Back in the squad room he wrote a letter of inquiry and gave it to the receptionist. Then he had her pull up a list of all the registered Dentists in the city. She was going to be here late. He had her send it to every one of them with an e-mail address. Then she had to watch to see if any of them replied. If they did, he wanted to know, no matter what time it was. While she got started he went in to the break area and started her a pot of coffee.
The letter was simple, written with as much official aplomb as he could muster; he even threw in the Police department logo. The probability was that few of them would answer. Police don’t use e-mail. It couldn’t be trusted to be official. Yet, somehow people believed phone calls. The ignorance that surrounded and penetrated society made him angry sometimes. It wasn’t because people believed everything they were told, it was because what they did believe was rarely something they came to on their own. It was worth a try though.
After that he flipped back through the four lab reports. The DNA didn’t match, nor did the amount of work down on the teeth. One appeared pristine, two had small fillings and the third had a whopper of a filling on the crown. Then it hit him. There wasn’t a single X-ray of the teeth. Everything that had been surmised had been done on the exterior. It was worth a shot. He called the morgue then headed over. He needed to get a look inside.
On the drive over he called the antiques dealer who was helping them identify the cups and saucers. He picked up on the fourth ring and sounded like he’d already had a couple of cups of tea himself, Irish tea.
The call didn’t last very long but he did find out a few things. The cups were 18th century bone chine and painted by hand. Each set was worth around a $1000.00, but the dealer seemed to forget where they came from and started complaining about how they could have been split from their original sets. He’d narrowed it down to two British porcelain makers but was waiting for word back from overseas before he said which ones. The Detective thanked him and hung up while the dealer was mid sentence on proper care techniques.
The X-ray was a great idea, only problem was that they’d tried four separate times and each time the X-ray came out fogged; a fog that completely obliterated the image of each tooth. When he enquired what could have caused this kind of fogging, the tech didn’t hesitate.
“Only thing that could cause that would be radiation exposing the film.”
"X-Rays are radiation."
"Another radiation source."
"In the tooth?"
"In the tooth."
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
24 hours, 1400 minutes, 86400 seconds and he’d just wasted 7 minutes smoking a cigarette. 1393 minutes left. The Detective lit another cigarette. He still had time. Back in the squad room he wrote a letter of inquiry and gave it to the receptionist. Then he had her pull up a list of all the registered Dentists in the city. She was going to be here late. He had her send it to every one of them with an e-mail address. Then she had to watch to see if any of them replied. If they did, he wanted to know, no matter what time it was. While she got started he went in to the break area and started her a pot of coffee.
The letter was simple, written with as much official aplomb as he could muster; he even threw in the Police department logo. The probability was that few of them would answer. Police don’t use e-mail. It couldn’t be trusted to be official. Yet, somehow people believed phone calls. The ignorance that surrounded and penetrated society made him angry sometimes. It wasn’t because people believed everything they were told, it was because what they did believe was rarely something they came to on their own. It was worth a try though.
After that he flipped back through the four lab reports. The DNA didn’t match, nor did the amount of work down on the teeth. One appeared pristine, two had small fillings and the third had a whopper of a filling on the crown. Then it hit him. There wasn’t a single X-ray of the teeth. Everything that had been surmised had been done on the exterior. It was worth a shot. He called the morgue then headed over. He needed to get a look inside.
On the drive over he called the antiques dealer who was helping them identify the cups and saucers. He picked up on the fourth ring and sounded like he’d already had a couple of cups of tea himself, Irish tea.
The call didn’t last very long but he did find out a few things. The cups were 18th century bone chine and painted by hand. Each set was worth around a $1000.00, but the dealer seemed to forget where they came from and started complaining about how they could have been split from their original sets. He’d narrowed it down to two British porcelain makers but was waiting for word back from overseas before he said which ones. The Detective thanked him and hung up while the dealer was mid sentence on proper care techniques.
The X-ray was a great idea, only problem was that they’d tried four separate times and each time the X-ray came out fogged; a fog that completely obliterated the image of each tooth. When he enquired what could have caused this kind of fogging, the tech didn’t hesitate.
“Only thing that could cause that would be radiation exposing the film.”
"X-Rays are radiation."
"Another radiation source."
"In the tooth?"
"In the tooth."
[This is an experiment. I don’t know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It’s about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we’ll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It’s still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]
Lagging behind
Sorry, I've been lagging behind posting here this week and now that this STRONG BUCKS thing has gotten rolling, it's taking more time than I thought it would. 134 hits in one day and 10 e-mails to be posted of people getting ripped off and I have a funny feeling it's just started.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The Strong Bucks
So, there's been enough reaction to the post about the bogus check pulled on my account, so I've started a separate blog for that. It's at <http://thestrongbuckssucks.blogspot.com/>. So, if you've found your way here from that original post, make your way over there. You can e-mail me your story about being ripped off by these people to me and I'll post it on the blog.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Odd week
It has been a rather odd week. I've been leaving work and walking home and then brewing a large pot of coffee and sitting in front of the TV writing or editing. It doesn't matter what gets done as long as something gets done. I've managed to do a pretty final edit on the first hour of CA and started fiddling with the second hour. The odd part is that I haven't had a drink all week and I'm not sure exactly how I feel about that. I've replaced beer with obscene amounts of Java. I've also watched an increasing amount of TV. I mute it to work and un-mute to refocus. Most of the watching has centered on BRAVO, FOOD NETWORK and then various shows on other channels. Monday nights I catch up on ENTERPRISE from the beginning with four eps back to back. Then SUPERNATURAL on Thursday nights. My laptop has much goodness in it was well, but I'm saving that for when I'm not trying to work at the same time. Hopefully this will become my new schedule. It saves me an ungodly amount of money I don't have anyway and at least I get something done every night. I'm a bit worried about having a drink this weekend and falling back into my bad habits. I do miss my brew though.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Affidavit of Forgery
Finally got the Affidavit of Forgery from the bank on Friday. That made it a full week just to get this to then mail back. My problem was that I thought that it would be filled out when I got it and all I would have to do is initial, sign it and get it notarized. Nope, it was a blank affidavit, which means if they were the least bit computer savvy at my bank I would have been able to simply download a .pdf of the affidavit and fill it out and could have mailed it the same day. I've also lost a bit of confidence in the process from looking at the envelope it came in. I needed the return address and happened to look at my address. This is how they spelled Los Angeles "LAS ANGELOS". Whoosh, there goes the confidence. Hopefully at this rate I’ll get my money back sometime in September.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Maybe
I need a leather clad dominatrix to whip me when I don't write. Sure, I'd write less at first, but then I think it might motivate me. Trying to get second half of CA and an actual screenplay done by the middle of August. You'd think my living conditions would be motivation enough. I think I need more depravity...I mean destitution. Maybe I need more of both. Maybe I need something all together different. Maybe I need to stop writing this and start writing that. Maybe I don't. It's very confusing.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Signal Loss
No signal in the apartment, so I may be silent for a while. Don't feel right posting from work except to say that I won't be posting from work.
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