TheZot

I don't know what a good title is, but I know that one ain't. It ought to be a country music song. But yeah, definitely not good. A much better one is in order. A very good point. Joe was raised fairly superstitiously, something clearly referenced far too obliquely. His grandmother filled his head with Irish legends, and he does have a tendency to see things that aren't there. (Or things that are there that he doesn't usually see) So while he's not all new-agey, and he's not all that religious (though I was tempted to have him with a St. Christopher's medal at some point), he definitely believes in spooks 'n such. For good reason, so it works out OK. Alex, though, does deserve a bit more consideration. I'll work on that for the next draft.

I'll smug right back and point out that Word does, in fact, actually do this -- it's how I've been keeping the running word and page count. (The search for formatting isn't nearly so useful to me, since all I do for formatting is italics) Generating the all-in-one document'd relatively easy, generating a readable one is the part that needs work, and that's only because I don't have the chapters marked out anywhere. (And there are far fewer chapters than parts) Makes for a dense read the way it currently is.

Cool! I shall, then, see about working in the coyote thing. I may work in another flashback to Chris' childhood as part of it. One could make a case that, of the three options available to the name (immigrant smuggler, mutt, or semi-amoral trickster god) that the mongrel option is the last bad available... I should probably see about convincing Word to get me an all-in-one HTML document for the story. I'd just do it, but there are no page breaks in it, so it'd be a bit dense to dig through.

Right, some notes for the end of the story, and (hopefully) an entry to hang people's comments about things that need fixing or addressing. Yeah, it's quiz time -- please weigh in with the problems you had with the story. I've got my list, but I can't fix what I don't realize is wrong. (This is not the time to be nice) I need a title! I don't know that 'Busted' really fits all the way through. The folder on my hard drive's labelled "Ghost Cop" but that's not all that good either. You've got the whole thing now, so have at it. The Notes: The funny thing is that this all started because of a traffic stop on Route 8 I didn't get tagged by. (It was on the southbound side, I was going north. Around exit 25 as I remember, give or take a bit) Nobody else did either, there was this state cop sitting in one of the pull-offs, just waiting. Probably doing paperwork while he was looking for people going way, way too fast. The initial scene kind of showed up with the semi-cliche mistaken identity bit and it went from there. Unfortunately I know even less about state police proceedures than local police, so Chris turned from a state police officer to a local one, and that's going to require a bit of a rethink on the setting for the initial stop. While it would work just fine for a local officer in a lot of the country, the open, relatively high-speed roads out here ('here' being connecticut) are all state roads and the local cops don't police them. I need to work our murdering psychopath into the story earlier. Not very much, since I do actually like the opening and it sets up the romantic plotline, but a little mention. Maybe Joe'll get cut off by the guy's Jetta, or some mention of a murder or something between Chris and Joe in the station. (Just because I didn't realize anyone was going to die at the beginning of the first draft doesn't mean it shouldn't be there when it's done) The story started out being told from Joe's point of view -- he was the only character I really had a handle on from the beginning. Chris had a cardboard stand-in, and I didn't know about Steve at all, nor the kids and related hangers-on. It grew into a larger thing as the story went on. I need, I think, more of Chris and Steve's interaction. Since we've got multiple third-person POVs here, the story needs more balance, and it'll let us see a side of Chris that we wouldn't otherwise. He is actually good at what he does, reasonably articulate, and caring. It's just when he's around Joe that he turns into a total idiot. Showing more scenes without Joe will help make the contrast clear, as well as move the B storyline forward some. Just to get it out of the way... yes, I do need to set up things so Joe and Chris adopt Stephanie. I'm still not sure that's going to happen, but there is a reasonable chance, so it's worth leaving things open that way. (And her therapy bills are gonna be hell for years, I'm afraid) Dunno what happens to Steve's brother-in-law. He kind of fell off the map after he found the body. Granted he's a secondary character, but he probably shouldn't be just dropped. Maybe a scene between him and Mary after Joe pulls the runner. Yeah, the bad guy is possessed, but he doesn't actually mind. It's not until he runs across Joe before the story starts that he manifests in the first place (about the same time that Alex first manifests, and for about the same reason) then goes on his dark 'o the moon killing spree. Running across Joe a second time (at Stephanie's) gives him the strength to break the pattern. The host may also be the kid brother of the boy that Alex kissed when Chris was a kid. I'm not sure. If he was, then the brother's a Sherrif now, and I could set the sequel out in Arizona and have them meet back up again. The dialog patterns need some work. Chris is generally articulate and thinks before he speaks. He rarely (if ever) swears. Steve is more open in how he talks, is mostly happy, almost always under control, and swears a bit but not much. Joe's more frenetic, tends to let his temper get away with him in non-professional settings, and swears like a sailor. You should be able to tell the three of them apart from a stretch of dialog, but I'm not sure that's consistent. Physically, Joe is Irish. Curly red hair, pale skin, freckles, gets crispy in the sun. He's also thin, though with some muscle on him. about 5'9", give or take a bit. His height is never specified since it's not a big deal, but he is shorter by a few inches than either Steve or Chris. Steve's more triangular, and while he's padded he's also got a good solid layer of muscle. He's a natural blonde who's gone brown as he's gotten older, fair skinned, about 6' tall, definitely imposing and not someone you'd particularly want in your face if things got unpleasant. Which is partly why he looks like he does, as it's useful when intimidating people. Probably old-stock connecticut, which means mostly english and welsh if you really, really had to trace it back. Chris is half italian immigrant, half native american, likely Navajo as his mom is from rural Arizona. He's less inherently solid than Steve -- he'd be considered a bit rangy if he hadn't worked hard in high school to bulk up. (Overcompensating from a childhood where there were days he had a hard time getting out of bed) He heavily favors the native american side in skin and hair coloring, as well as body hair distribution. There was a bit in there where he felt kind of inadequate since he doesn't really meet the whole 'manly' stereotype in some ways but I may cut that, I'm not sure. It does get across that he's uncomfortable with his body image, which is something that would sensibly spill over from his childhood. I don't know right now whether Chris' maternal grandmother is still alive. I don't actually know who his maternal grandfather was, though I'm pretty sure he wasn't human. That may or may not make for a hook into a sequel, or it could just stay as one of those things. Megan, Chris' ex, needs to get worked in more, though indirectly. Homophobia is pretty much nonexistent as a motivator or issue in the story. Yes, Joe's excessively up front about his sexuality, and Chris and Steve's boss is an insulting ass, but it isn't generally a worry. Chris' flinching from Joe in public is because of his relationship issues, not that Joe's a guy. Character motivations Joe: Joe grew up lower class (I always think somewhere in Waterbury, but never actually place him) and wanted out in the worst way. He worked his ass off through high school to get into college on a combination of loans, grants, and work. He left home and never went back, mostly because his family life was hell. The drive that got him out also got in the way of any real social life. He didn't have time for anything past casual, and his upbringing didn't really equip him for healthy serious relationships. (He's done enough therapy to know that, and to have a general idea what's involved, but there's a difference between the abstract and the practical in these things) He's certainly not been a monk, and he has dated, some short, some medium term. Nothing serious, though, not much past friends with benefits. He does sometimes regret this. Joe has always wanted kids. He gave the idea up in high school when he figured he was gay, but that never stopped him from wanting them. He's never done much about it -- he has a fear that he'd be the same sort of parent that his parents were, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. He's relatively inexperienced with kids, and has, to date, only had to deal with them professionally (when people bring them into the office) or very casually. He's yet to have to be responsible in the face of a major meltdown. Being the flimsiest of the family he was on the receiving end of a lot of crap until he learned to fight back. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for in viciousness, quick wit, and manic energy. (He's got a tendency to go for the throat, then kick you in the nuts. After that he gets nasty) He's had to deal with some homophobia and some near-bashings, and as a result he's very in your face about his sexuality when it becomes an issue, though he's good about leaving it go in professional settings. He does not take crap from anyone. Chris: Chris was born in rural Arizona, on the edge of one one of the towns. His mother was full-blooded native american (though always thought she was half), his father was the grandson of italian immigrants, and both his parents were arguably insane -- at least they saw things that weren't there. They both drank heavily. His father comes from a long line of guys who were mad. His father probably committed suicide while posted in the Korean War (I expect seeing spirits would be a bad talent to have in the middle of a war), and it goes back paternally from there. His mother was something of a pariah, as her mother got pregnant by a mystery guy she'd never own up to. If the slang went back far enough I'd have him named coyote and leave it for everyone to think he smuggled illegal immigrants across the border while she thoguht she'd bedded a deity. (Or at least a force of nature, depending on how you like to categorize these things) Chris had Alex, his imaginary friend, since he was about five. He was an escape from his parents, unfortunately Alex took a toll and left him weak and in bed on and off for years. When he was eleven his parents died when their trailer caught on fire, and he moved in with his paternal grandmother. He lost Alex at that point, and it gave him a determination to lose the sickly body he had. He spent a lot of high school hitting the weight room. Chris is crap with relationships; what he saw growing up really didn't prepare him for anything. He was also attracted to boys, though he didn't think about it too much given there was more than enough other crap going on for him to deal with. He did date occasionally, though never too seriously. He got bagged by Megan about six years ago. He'd done something that had gotten him some recognition, she decided she wanted him, and she went and got him. He didn't fight too hard, and it wasn't too long after that they were married. That didn't work out at all well. She was looking for prestige, good sex, and someone to make her a princess -- what she got was a tepid bedroom, mostly ignored, and a serious lack of sympathy. She's very much not a nice person, but Chris bears a lot of responsibility for the marriage getting as bad as it did. As a result Chris is gun shy and very insecure about relationships. It the major component of what makes him flinch from Joe throughout the story -- not that he's confronting his issues with being gay, but that he's scared to death to let anyone get close enough to hurt him. Steve: He's a secondary character, so he's not as immediately important, but he really wants his friend to be happy. He's known Chris since they were both eleven, and he's seen the misery Chris has been through, most recently with Megan. He doesn't give a damn about the whole gay thing -- Joe could be an alien or a sheep for all he cared, if he made Chris happy he'd be all for it. (Though he'd probably be disappointed with a sheep) I think that's pretty much it. I would, very much, appreciate honest commentary on things, most especially on things that were missing, didn't work, or were incomplete. Not that I don't mind a good ego stroke, but I think we can assume that the good bits will stay, so I'd like to concentrate on the bits that need fixing. I would very much appreciate folks taking the time to point things out that need work. It's been fun, that's for sure. 82K words, all because of a cop on a dark night and some writer's block I was procrastinating on. Go figure...

Ah, shying away from the blogs is often a sensible thing. Besides, this way you get to read the whole first draft from end to end and not have to wait! It doesn't need a huge rewrite, but the dialog for the guys needs to be made more consistent, there's a fair amount of rough work that needs smoothing out, and the fact that I didn't have any idea someone was going to die until I was a couple of weeks into it needs dealing with. (Plus motivations are rough, and there are just some general consistency issues that need taking care of) Standard second draft stuff. Clarity, conciseness, and cleanliness -- you should pick it up, start reading, and then realize you hit the end and need to get up for work in a couple of hours and not realize it ate your evening.

I really need to pay more attention. Thanks for the new kind words. Now that I've got the first draft of Busted finished, I may be able to wrap my brain around Rob's plight again and get the darn sequel going.

Yeek! No, first I catch up on everything I've been ignoring because this, including a long half-edited Ben & William fantasy short. Then I dig into this and do a good second draft, and then I think I'm going to try shopping it around and see what happens. (That should be so terribly good for my ego ) Nah, she's good. They were on the second floor and the gun was pointing more up than down -- it went a few blocks and one of Chris' distant neighbors is going to be real surprised by the leak in the roof over the kitchen the next time it rains.

[Ah, I can't wait, so instead I edit and re-release. I'm done. Yay!] Snuffles may have cleared Chris head, but he also broke the spell that hid Joe. The maniac stiffened as he realized they weren't alone any more. "You! How are you

The time factor is interesting here. Under normal circumstances you would be reading the book in a couple of hours so things would stick better than they have. Writing for serialization and writing for start-to-finish reading are two different things -- what works for one tends not to work as well for the other. (Ignoring the whole first draft issue. I'm writing this as if it were a book, rather than a serialized piece) Chris is half italian, half native american (probably Navajo, though I haven't really decided. He also thinks it's a quarter, but that's a separate issue that may or may not ever get touched on). The native side shows more, and you're right in that it feels like Toby shows it even more. Dunno why, but it feels right. Chris was stuck working traffic for a week as a punishment because he'd bitched out his boss. That'd been established earlier, but it would've been back in part 15 or 20, so it was quite a while ago that it was mentioned. That has its own issues, but I'll mention them in the end notes and we'll see what has to be done with it at that point. Only a few thousand more words to go...

Yeah. He's pretty stereotypically Irish. He's got the freckles, too. (Which I think may have been mentioned earlier) So, more character description earlier, huh?

[Damn, this is slow going. Sorry...] From the kitchen to the upstairs took Joe all of seven seconds. He heard the nasty laughter as soon as he'd rounded the corner and hit the stairs, and it led him right to the master bedroom. He gave a strangled little cry as he stopped in the doorway. Chris was sprawled out on the floor next to the bed, his head against the nightstand. He looked dazed, his eyes a little unfocused. The lamp that stood on the nightstand was wobbling, throwing odd flashes of light around the room. Standing almost in the doorway was a man Joe didn't recognize, though he could only see his back. He was a little shorter than Joe, wearing a baseball hat and a faded blue work shirt. Bits of straight black hair stuck out from around the edges of the hat, and the skin Joe could see was a dark tan. His left arm was outstretched, palm open and pointing at Chris. His right arm was cradled around a smaller form, the small head of black hair barely showing around the man. Toby. The man's posture was familiar. He couldn't see it, but Joe was sure he was holding a knife near Toby's throat. Joe froze. He wasn't sure what to do. The charge up the stairs hadn't been planned, he'd just done it. And while he might have had a gun, the guy had a knife far too close to Toby to be safe. Fear had the upper hand, and Joe just didn't think he could shoot a man from behind. That didn't stop him from raising the gun and pointing it at the man. "Drop the knife," Joe said, in as deep a voice as he could muster. He hoped the quaver he felt didn't come out in his voice. His voice brought Chris out of his daze. When he'd hit his head the distraction had let the fog rush in for a moment. His eyes widened as he saw Joe in the doorway to the bedroom, Chris' service pistol in his hand, pointed straight at the head of the man holding Toby. Joe was a strange sight, standing there. The grey silk lining of his jacket shimmered, broken by seams and pockets. His left arm was half hidden under the coat, which was falling off Joe's shoulder a little, exposing the straps of the sling. Joe's face was pale with fear. The contrast with his bright red hair and the dark jacket made him look ashen. Chris was terrified that the maniac would hurt Toby. He was between Chris and Joe, a tenuous position at best. Toby was leverage, and Joe wasn't nearly a good enough shot to end the standoff safely. Even if he was, Chris wasn't sure he wanted Toby to have to deal with that, have the brains of the man holding him prisoner splattered all over him. The strange thing was that the man didn't react, like he hadn't heard Joe. He didn't turn until he saw Chris look behind him, and even then it was only a glance. "You keep trying that trick, Detective. It won't work." Chris struggled to keep his voice calm. "Can't blame me for trying," he said. "Oh, but I can. I can," he replied, his grin wide and feral. Joe was puzzled. He'd been loud enough that there was no way he hadn't been heard. The man clearly had heard Chris, so he wasn't deaf. And while he hadn't looked directly at Joe, there wasn't any way he could have missed seeing him in the doorway. That just didn't make any sense. He worried that it might be a trick, some way of luring him closer so he could attack. That appealed, in its own way. Joe knew what was going on, and was in a position to react in a way that Toby wasn't. He'd been stabbed once, and while it hurt like hell, he knew he'd survive. Chris could use the distraction to get Toby safe. Joe started edging around to the man's right, the gun wobbling but never losing its target. "You won't make it out of here," Chris said, defiance in his voice. He was just as puzzled as Joe was, over his 'grandfather's' apparent blindness to Joe. "I think I will, grandson," he said. "I think I will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." 'Grandson?' Joe mouthed. Chris shrugged and started to stand. "No, I think I like you down there," the man snapped. Chris sat back down, his legs bent and to his right. It was an uncomfortable position, but the best he could manage. It there was an opening he'd be able to move fast enough to grab Toby. There was something wedged between him and the nightstand, something fuzzy. He pulled it out. Snuffles. Holding the bear seemed to push the fog away, letting Chris' head clear.

I think I'm just going to punt on the details. It's not like they have to be brought out in the story and arguably they shouldn't be -- just because I know what's going on doesn't mean it has to go on the page. That way lies world building, or evil villain monologuing, and that's usually kinda dull. So we'll just leave it as is and make sure the characters behave in ways that fit their backgrounds (even if they have two or more potential ones) and leave it at that.

Not always, and certainly not always in the first draft. This is true, and it's definitely a first draft. Not too bad as fiction on "teh Intarweb" goes, but I figure it's possible to set my expectations a little too low. Yep, this is true, but if I'm going to be playing around with things from myths and legends, it does kinda behoove me to get it generally right, or it'll annoy folks who're actually familiar with them. I know that happens to me -- I've got one (otherwise reasonably nice) book where in the opening few pages the vet gets hauled out to someone's horse farm and... he grabs his bag 'o stuff to go. That put me right off, since no large animal vet does that. They've all got pickups with custom cabinetry in the truck bed filled with all sorts of stuff. (You try hauling around enough mineral oil and rubber hosing to flush out a colicking horse in a satchel...) It's one of the major startup costs for a vet practice. It was still a good book, but I almost didn't get past that point, and I don't want to do it to anyone else, at least not more than I have to.

Y'know, I get the feeling that an author's supposed to know what'd motivating all the characters somewhere before the last dozen pages of the book. Ah, well, I have a handle on it now. Definitely have a bunch of things to fix for the rewrite, and I may have to schedule a day or two at a good research library while I'm at it. (Assuming I don't do the lazy author thing -- skim a few books and fake it)

[Only one or two parts to go. Racing to the end now] That sent a chill down Chris' spine and left a lump in his stomach. 'Hungry' was always bad with the violently insane. Not that he had a whole lot of experience with those. He was a detective in a small city police department. He had to deal with drugs and gangs and the occasional psychopath. As deep as he'd dived into the case, the state guys were right. He hadn't ever dealt with this stuff. Not that they had, but that was a problem for another day. What he did have was a connection with this guy, whether he wanted it or not. He also had a reputation as being big and not too smart. That was an image he and Steve had gone out of their way to cultivate, and most people were more than happy to accept. People were sloppy around stupid people. They made mistakes, and Chris needed this guy to make a mistake. If he didn't want food, what did he want? He was clearly insane. He'd killed seventeen people that they knew about, and probably had a trail of bodies left behind him in Arizona. Much as he hated to think about it, if this guy had preyed mainly on gang members and drug dealers, he wouldn't have been too high a priority to track down. The way he talked made it sound like he was looking for something exotic, or less tangible. Hernandez and his girlfriend had been killed normally enough. The hiker out in Woodstock had been in the woods for too long to tell if there was much special about her death. Mike's professor friend had been expertly gutted, and had part of his liver missing. The gang in Harford had their throats slit, though the palm reader that had been killed with them had been partly flayed and had her eyes removed. Chris shuddered to think what would've happened to Joe if he hadn't gotten free. What was likely to happen to him. There had been an element of ritual, of something supernatural, in all the murders but the first. That could mean a lot of things, none of them good. It chilled Chris' blood to think maybe something truly supernatural was involved. He shouldn't think it, it ought to be nonsense. But there was Alex. Alex changed everything, and maybe this was real. Flashes of horror movies ran through Chris' mind, and he regretted every single one he'd ever seen. They never ended well, and he feared this wouldn't, as the monster ate his soul, or something equally nasty. Which might well be what this

[i had hoped to get to the end, but we'll have to make do with this...] "Who

[Y'know, simultenaety isn't so much of a problem when you're writing first-person...] Chris was swearing at himself the whole way home. He'd f**ked up, and he knew it. That meant it was time to break the news to Toby. He wasn't looking forward to that. He parked his car and walked around the back of Steve's house. Steve's car wasn't in the driveway, which probably meant he hadn't gotten back yet. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Steve with the paperwork, but better Steve than him. He was having enough trouble with the captain without having to deal with catching crap for badly done reports. "Hey, sport," Chris said as he walked into Steve's kitchen. Toby was sitting at the table with Bob and Amy. Steve's kids were doing their homework, while Toby was busy coloring. "Hi Papa." Toby didn't look up. His head was down and he was concentrating on finishing his picture, a masterpiece in browns, blues, and greens. Chris could only see bits and pieces of it around the boy. "What are you drawing?" "A picture, Papa. 'M almost done," he said. Chris sat and waited while Toby finished, his little hands flying over the paper. "All done," he said, putting the crayon down. "Can we go now?" "Sure, Toby. Can I see your picture first? Maybe we can put it on the 'fridge." "'K, Papa," Toby said brightly. He held the picture up for inspection. Chris' heart sank when he saw it. Toby had drawn a desert, the background filled with brown mesas and green cacti. There was a bright yellow sun in one corner, and what looked like a dog on one of the mesa tops. In the center was a little stick figure with a big smile on its face. He was flanked by two other, larger figures, holding their hands. The one on the left was wearing dark blue clothes and a hat with a yellow star on it. The other was in grey, a white and black spotted ball at its feet. On the left edge was a tent, with another little figure sitting in front of it. "That's me, an' that's you, and that's Daddy. Up there's coyote, and over there by the teepee is grandpa." "They didn't use tipis in the desert, Toby," Chris said. "Those were mostly used by the tribes in the plains." That just added to the guilt. This was a part of Toby's heritage, and he didn't know because his father had been too wrapped up in his own problems to teach him properly. "Oh, okay. Can we have dinner now?" "Sure, sport," Chris said. He opened the back door and they started walking across the deck. "Is Daddy gonna be home for dinner?" Kids, Chris thought, really knew how to twist the knife, even when they weren't doing it on purpose. Maybe especially when they weren't doing it on purpose. That was when they asked the questions that you didn't want to answer. "Maybe," Chris allowed. It was, after all, possible, so it wasn't really a lie. Not really. "Does he like meatloaf? I like meatloaf, Papa," Toby said. "I don't know," Chris answered. "Do you want some tonight? I think there's some in the freezer." Toby stopped in the middle of the yard and thought. "We should save it for Daddy. Can we have mac'n'cheese?" Chris gave a half-hearted smile. The conversation was intensely painful, and he started cursing at himself again. "Macaroni and cheese it is, Toby. With garlic bread," he added. "Yay!" Toby started dancing around. "Or maybe we could order pizza," Chris said, pretending to think about it. "That would be nice." "No! Nonononono! Mac'n'Cheese Papa! You said! Go cook," Toby insisted. He pushed at Chris, trying to get him into the house. "Are you sure? You don't seem very hungry." "Papa! I'll tell Daddy you were being mean!" Toby said with a pout. It brought Chris up short. "You're right," he said softy. "I'm sorry. I'll get dinner started." Chris wasn't feeling all that well right then, though. What Toby had said hurt more than he cared to think about. He knew it was only going to get worse. He owed Toby the truth, though, no matter how painful it was. Or how much it might make Toby hate him. That thought made his stomach churn, and started a throbbing behind his eyes. He was getting a headache, which just pissed him off. It seemed appropriate. He was going to break Toby's heart. Some pain of his own seemed fitting. "Papa? Can you make extra?" Toby asked. His voice sounded a little off, but Chris was having a hard time thinking clearly. The throbbing had spread, and his whole head was fuzzy with pain. "I don't know that Joe's going to make it in time for dinner," he said. "That's okay, Detective," said an unfamiliar voice. It was oddly harsh, and it tickled old memories. "We can wait before I eat."

Yeah, he did it back when he found Stephanie. It's also old -- if you wear your clothes inside-out the faerie can't see you. Which, given they're generally a nasty bunch at the best of times (redcaps and kelpie and children swapped for changelings), strikes me as a good thing under some circumstances...

I need to remember to work the Jetta into the story earlier, like in the first page or two. I also can't remember if Joe did the jacket thing after the time he found Stephanie -- if so, it's gotta go.

It took Joe seven minutes to make the drive, and they were the longest seven minutes of his life. A half block away from Chris' house he threw his car in neutral, cut the engine, and coasted into Steve's driveway. It was probably pointless, but he didn't want any noise to give away his presence. There was a car in Chris' driveway, a blue Jetta he didn't recognize. It had New Mexico plates, and seemed vaguely familiar. Joe grabbed his keys and eased himself out of the car. He left the door open

Sheesh, I dunno. you don't post a chapter, they complain. You post a chapter, and they complain. There's just no pleasing some people...

[This one's a bit more ragged than I'd like. The shouty bits don't hang together as well as I want 'em to. Damn this 'no sleep' thing anyway...] Joe was trying to bring himself to eat dinner when his cell rang. He'd picked up Chinese on the way back to the hotel, but his stomach just wasn't up to it. The food sat, cloyingly sweet sauces congealing as it cooled. The suite was filled with the smell of overcooked pineapple and garlic. The day had been pretty much a total loss

Working on it. I ran out of buffer, I'm afraid. The last few chapters may be a bit spotty, depending on how much sleep I get...

Heh. If you're picturing extreme hotness then, alas, you're not thinking of the guys. Seriously, off the top of your head, what do you think they look like? (I'm curious as to the impression that you've gotten so far)

[Mmmm, remorse!] Chris took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent the whole day Friday either on the phone or digging into police databases. He hadn't anything to show for it but a headache and some vague offers for people to call him back. It wasn't enough