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Random crap written when I'm not working on a story... may or may not be interesting... |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** BLOG! I've never had one before... Want to use this to keep my fingers moving even when I don't have a story to write, or if I'm stuck. Will contain random crap which may or may not be interesting. I don't do too many interesting things, so, i will probably write about things that other people, who I have never met and who may or may not be real, are doing. Also, cats, and science, and beer, and metal. |
| 93 days without blogging on the wall, 93 days without blogging! Take one down, pass- oops, oh. Well. Now it's zero days. Great. Look what you've made me do. I was so close to 100. Well I haven't been blogging here anyway. I did write some random things and stuff and other stuff at my other blog. But I'm going to write things here too. Why not? This will be a more sort of 'stream of consciousness' blog, whereas the other one will be more planned out and probably will try to be entertaining? I don't even know. I'm just trying to justify having two blogs when i really don't even have enough content for one... Anyway. I am now free of credit cards. I havent been actually 'working' at my job for months, just sitting surfing the web waiting to get fired. I'm about 13k words into a novel, and I'm possibly moving to Colorado in a couple months. Oh and I wrote a short story a while ago which Lotte is making nice and good and pro looking and I'm going to be rich and famous when it's accepted at Clarkesworld. Yep. That's the version I'm going with. Other things that have happened. I saw Radiohead live, had super good seats and passes to the VIP lounge. Ive been cracking out on Diablo 3 (I'm Jonas#1814 add me) I've been throwing things away in preparation for trying to force it all into my car as I drive to colorado. The sun has been out. I got a new phone and pants and shirts and wallet. THE BIRD IS GONE! An OCD person who was mad that I don't sweep enough moved in, and is now moving out. We got FIOS! Comcast is GONE! And probably lots of other things that I'm forgetting. So, it probably wont be another 93 days before i post again. Maybe 3. or 10. Or... well. I don't know. So long for now! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| a nice long weekend, havent had one in a while :) finished reading Mistborn, and got the second one in the series, and watched some tv... and started working on a novel again? yes. yes i did. hopefully it will go somewhere this time. I got a writing program called 'scrivener' which has been very useful so far. it allows you to separate everything into chapters and scenes, then you can look at them as if they were index cards stuck on a board, and drag and drop them around to reorganize things. much easier to plan things that way :) hopefuly i'll have some chapters to show off soon. oh yeah, and its about people with super powers... cutting edge stuff, i know |
| well, my streak of a story every day has ended :/ saturday was just way too busy for me. I had work until 4, then went straight to my friends house for dnd night, then i stayed the night there to play cards in the morning, cause it's a very long drive back. but... they have a baby. so, i didnt get much sleep and could hardly think when i finally got home on sunday. and there are my excuses. so i've sort of lost motivation.. but, im still going to go for a lot this month, and see how many i can get. other than that, i havent been doing much interesting, just working a lot. and watching Jekyll, another tv series written by stephen moffat, its very good as I expected. and i'll give you three guesses at what it's about. In good news, im going to see iced earth and symphony x tomorrow! symphony x was great last time i saw them, and ive never seen iced earth! it will be fun, even though i'll likely be by myself again. and speaking of music, here's a new band I'm enjoying a lot, all their songs are great! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_4MqvZ0FaQ |
| hello world. I havent been blogging here much, just been posting stories at my other blog, http://jonas-david.com/ i havent been doing much interesting other than that. working lots of overtime and getting very close to being free of credit cards! also thinking about moving somewhere far away a lot lately. i feel like a new place will be better just cause its new.. probably not a good reason to move somewhere... i still want to do it though. save up a bunch of money and just leave, and see what happens. i can write anywhere! now if i could just get paid for writing... i'd have to see if i could get a cat to travel with me though.. |
| i got a haircut today, and went for a walk in the sun. it was warm enough to go without a jacket, its been a while! then I went out to watch some fights and have a couple drinks with my friends. it was good times :) i have a bunch of overtime coming up at work, so im almost certain i'll have all my final credit card paid off before my 30th birthday. it will be a great present to be debt free! still feeling optimistic about this year! Write your own inspirational quote which promotes health and fitness. Then sell it to the masses, tell why everyone should live by your words. Alec’s calf muscles screamed at him, but he kept pedaling as Carlo, the Trainer, walked by checking the totals on all the bikes. Carlo glanced at Alec’s readout and shook his head, making a tick on his notepad. “This is very disappointing Alec, very disappointing,” he said. “You’ve gotta pick up the pace Alec, you need to get motivated!” “Yes Carlo,” Alec said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Alec gazed out the window at the burger joint across the street. Just one more mile and he could get some food. Carlo bounced away on toned legs wrapped in skin-tight, blue shorts. Alec wore black track pants to cover his own legs, which had stayed persistently flabby the two months he’d belonged to the Fitness Church, as the gym was called. There was no leaving until he met his target weight; the Trainers were very serious about it. Alec got calls at home when he was late to the gym, and one time Carlo had come to knock on his door when he’d been home with a cold. Finally the monitor pinged his success. Alec stepped off the bike and leaned with hands against his knees. His drenched t-shirt clung to a thick gut that heaved in and out with shaky breaths. He gulped water from a plastic bottle, and headed for the door. Carlo appeared in front of him, clipboard in hand, before he could get past the front desk. “Alec, a word,” said Carlo, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “I’m just leav-” “Your workout today was very disappointing,” Carlo said, tapping his pen on the clipboard. “Do you always do the bare minimum in life?” Alec shook his head, his cheeks wobbling. “You do believe in fitness, don’t you?” Tap, tap, tap. “I do, yes of course,” Alec nodded, his eyes darting to the glass door behind Carlo, and his car outside. “You don’t need to take another Health Class do-” “No! No,” Alec grabbed Carlos arm. “I believe in fitness. Health and fitness first, life second.” Alec swallowed hard and forced himself not to break contact with Carlo’s wild, brown eyes. He could not go to another class. The hours of demeaning activities, humiliating name-calling and yelling had left him crying himself to sleep every night for the duration. Carlo had been the worst of them, often keeping Alec after the class to make him do sit-ups, and mocking him the entire time. Carlo grunted and scribbled something. “I’m glad to year you are devoted to fitness, Alec, and I want you to succeed in living a healthy life. That’s why we are going to up your bike ride to 6 miles, and give you one hour of personal time with me per week.” Alec’s skin went cold and he choked back his horror. “Yes, yes of course, the Trainer knows best.” Carlo smiled and nodded, and after a long, painful moment, moved aside to let Alec out the door. As Alec left, he saw Carlo talking to the woman at the front desk, and both of them looking at him with hard eyes. Alec slumped into the drivers seat and let out a shuddering sigh. Through the large glass windows he watched three trainers pull a round woman from one of the bikes and push her to the ground. The trainers waved their arms, and members set down their weights and got off their treadmills to stand in a circle around the woman and watch her try to do sit-ups. With tears in his eyes, Alec put the car in reverse, and drove away. Ten minutes later, Alec stood in line at King Burger deciding between the Double Bacon Monster and the Chicken Bacon Supreme. His stomach twinged and yowled. He licked his lips, imagining the greasy bacon and juicy beef. “Alec,” said a voice behind him. Alec jumped and turned around. Carlo and two other Trainers stood holding clipboards, their eyes narrowed and stern. “This is not Healthy, Alec,” said Carlo, tapping his pen. “I’m signing you up for a class.” Alec was out the door before the sentence was finished. He fumbled his key into his car door and peeled out of the parking lot. “No, no, no,” he said, squeezing the steering wheel in death-grip. They’d never let him go now, he’d be stuck in that room forever, with the Trainers standing around him in a circle, laughing at him. He pulled into his driveway and stumbled into his house, locking the door behind him. He could just stay here and he’d be fine. His cellphone rang and he let out a yelp, mashing the power button until the screen went black. He lowered the blinds and turned out the lights, then went to then hurried to his kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator and sighed in relief. It was still there. He grabbed the grease-stained bag with shaking hands and ripped it open. Wilted lettuce and shriveled tomatoes sat on cold beef, beaded with congealed fat. Thick strips of bacon sat trapped in cold cheese. He tore into it, bursting into tears as the flavors mingled in his mouth like old friends coming home. A knock at the door stopped him mid-chew. A piece of lettuce plopped to the ground. “Alec,” Carlo said, at the front door. “Alec we are worried about you, let us in.” Alec forced down the barely chewed bite and took another large chomp out of the burger. “Alec we know you’re here, your car is outside,” said Carlo. Alec thought he could hear his pen tap tap taping on the clipboard even now. “Leave me alone!” he shouted, spraying bits of beef. He heard footsteps on his back porch, then a creaking sound. He hadn’t locked the back door. He rushed down the hall, but it was too late. A Trainer in tight shorts and a tank-top came toward him, shaking his head in disgust. “Alec, this is shameful,” he said. Carlo and the third trainer came in behind him. “Alec,” they both said. “No, leave me alone! I don’t care about fitness anymore!” Alec held his burger at them like a shield as he backed away. “Health and Fitness, Alec,” they said, surrounding him. “Health and Fitness are important. Don’t you want to be Fit?” Alec fell to his knees under their gaze, still clutching the burger, holding it toward them like some talisman that might ward them off. “Let’s see you do a sit-up, Alec,” said Carlo, tapping his pen. “No! No, go away!” Alec curled into a ball, hugging the burger as they grabbed his arms and legs. ~ Alec strode into the Fitness Church, clipboard in hand. His new blue shorts were tight on his thick, muscled thighs. “Morning Carlo, Health and Fitness to you,” he said, nodding at Carlo. Carlo nodded and made a tick on his clipboard, “On time as usual Alec,” he said. “Let’s get to work.” Alec grinned and scanned the gym. There was a thick woman on a treadmill who could use some encouragement. He jogged over to let her know all about Health and Fitness. |
| What is your favorite inspirational quote and why do you like this quote? Richard's dark hair was tousled by the wind as he peered off the rooftop of the office building at the parked cars six stories below. The toes of his black dress shoes poked over the edge and he held his hands out to steady himself. It was all over now; there was no way he could go back to face his co-workers after what he'd done. The whole office had seen him print twenty-two copies of the expense report instead of two. There had been sidelong glances, snickers, and even a gasp. He groaned and covered his face just thinking about it. Mary Waters, the receptionist who he'd been in love with for years, she'd seen it and gone right to Jacob Bower's desk. Richard let out a wail. Just the other day she had nodded at him as he walked past her desk on the way to the bathroom, but now, she was talking to Jacob! Richard looked down at his only escape, and with a small spark of so lace saw that Mary's red Honda was parked across the street below. If he could land in it, and end his life near her in some way, he could die happy. But, it was so far to jump, he'd probably land in the street. A gust of wind pushed him, and he waved his arms to keep his balance. He heard some shouting and saw a small crowd pointing up. They were standing next to another car he recognized. Jacob's black Mustang sat shining, straight down from where Richard stood. Richard thought about all the hours he'd spent staring at Mary, all the smiley faces he'd left at the end of his emails to her requesting more business cards, or asking her to refill the copier. All that time together thrown away by a stupid mistake. If he landed on Jacob's car, maybe she'd understand how he felt. But, it would be so much more meaningful to land on her car, across the street. Richard pulled on his hair and cried to the sky at his dilemma. As he rubbed the tears from his eyes, he saw a billboard on the building across the street. It was a painting of a clear blue sky, dotted with a flock of birds above a calming green field of rolling hills. Some text overlaid the scenery, it said: The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark. ~ Michelangelo Richard felt a sudden peace come over him. It was true, so true. He knew what he had to do. He stepped back from the edge of the building. He returned to the stairwell door on the other side of the roof and leaned against it. Oh Mary, he thought we could have been happy. He remembered the time she had smiled at him, December 22nd at three PM. He remembered the time she had smiled at him, December 22nd at three PM. Oh, what an emotional day that had been. He remembered the time she said 'hello' to him, as she handed him a pay stub he'd forgotten to pick up. His heart had soared for weeks. Yes, Mary, he thought. I'll aim high for you. Richard took off in a sprint toward the edge of the building, and leaped off. |
| Free Prompt The crowd milled and rambled in an orderly fashion outside the courthouse. Reporters and their camera-men stood anxiously waiting for someone to push through the large doors. Edgar shuffled around between the onlookers, searching for someone to talk to. His back was starting to groan, and his bum knee needed a break. His hand made protest sign was leaning back over his shoulder. He approached a young lady with curled blond hair and a long black coat. "Shame what they done to poor Prompt, isn't it? That fella wouldn't hurt a fly and they know it," he said, shaking his head and heaving a sigh. The woman forced a smile and stepped back, pulling the young man next to her into a conversation. Edgar shuffled on. He straightened his suit jacket and wiped his nose on a handkerchief, then set his eyes on another lass, this one wearing thick rimmed glasses and a plaid scarf that pressed straight black hair against her neck. "Shame what they done to poor ol' Johnny Prompt isn't it?" he said, pausing a moment to see if the woman tried to escape. "He'd never do all those things, I just know it, it's in his eyes!" "It's the establishment, man," said the young lady, lighting a long, black cigarette. "The government and corporations, you know, like, our liberties.John Prompt stands for freedom." She blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke, and Edgar nodded, trying not to sneeze. "Poor Johnny wouldn't hurt a fly," said Edgar. A murmur rose from the crowd, and people began to push forward. Edgar looked up to see that a short, brown-haired woman wearing a smart pantsuit and dangling pearl earrings had pushed through the doors. The various reporters quickly surrounded her with microphones and cameras. The crowd started a chant of 'free prompt', which quickly faded as the woman raised her hands for silence. "The jury has reached a verdict," she said in a strong, clear voice. "John prompt has been found not guilty on all charges." The crowd burst into cheers and claps, drowning out the last few words. A moment later the door was opened again and the crowd shouted in a frenzy as John Prompt exited. Edgar found some strength and hefted his sign, which said 'John is a good man' in shoe polish. "John! John!" he shouted. Cameras surrounded the thin, pale, dark haired man with bags under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped, and his tweed suit was crumpled. "Mr. Prompt," said a reporter with slicked back blond hair. "How does it feel to be free?" "I've killed seventeen people," he said flatly. The crowd erupted in laughter. Edgar grinned and shook his head. "Ol' Johnny, such a jokester," said Edgar to the young lady with the cigarette. She didn't look at him. "What will you do now?" asked a second reporter, flashing a grin full of thick, white teeth. "I'm a serial killer," said John Prompt. "I cut people up for fun. You have me on video! Does no one care?" He held his arms up and let out a long yell, turning his face to each of the cameras in turn. The crown showered him with applause and the reporters pushed their microphones closer. "Is it true you're writing a book?" "Are you going on the Tonight show?" "What do you think of Lady Gaga's new dress?" "Do you wear boxers or briefs?" John let out a howl and pushed his way through the wall of cameras and into the crowd. Edgar shuffled forward, trying for a better look, but his bum knee and weak arms didn't let him get very close. Then, against all odds, John Prompt came right up to him, and grabbed the sign out of his hand. "Of course you can have it, Johnny," said Edgar, beaming with pride. John tore off the sign and swung the wooden post at full force into the group. People backed away screaming and holding their faces. John swung until the post snapped on someones head. He thrust the jagged edge into a young woman's belly and pushed her to the ground. A policeman rushed to her side. "What happened, who did this?" asked the officer, holding the woman's wound. "I did, you idiot." John dropped the wooden weapon and held up bloodied hands. "Did you see anything John?" said the officer. John pulled the officers gun from its holster and shot the cop in the face. He fired five more times into the screaming crowd then put the gun against his own head. Blood splattered on Edgars suit jacket. ~ Edgar sat at his dinner table and squinted through misty eyes at the front page of the morning paper. Local Hero Dies, Defends Crowd From Madman In a tragic event at the courthouse today, local celebrity John Prompt was killed by an unidentified man after diving in front of one Edgar Simmons, 55, and stopping the bullet... Edgar set down the newspaper and wiped a tear from his cheek. He stared at his untouched eggs. "Poor ol' Johnny," he said to himself. "He wouldn't hurt no one." |
| define blogging George's fingers remained stubbornly still on the keyboard. It had been two days since he decided he was going to get in on this blogging business, but still no words were coming out. He'd purchased the domain 'www.georgewords.com', and had paid his nephew to decorate it with lots of menus and links and animated pictures of cats. It looked very professional. The only thing missing was content. He typed out the words 'Hello world,' stared at them for a moment, then backspaced. George had always fancied himself a writer, though he had never actually written anything other than lengthy email correspondences between him and his sister about their respective cats, and long, detailed shopping lists, all in alphabetical order. Still, he felt that this was the job for him, it was something he'd been born to do. He knew he could be famous on the web, if he could just figure out what to write. "Blog, blog, blog," he said to himself while his fingers hovered over the keys. He had half an hour left of his allotted writing time, which he'd used for the past two days to do exactly this. "Blog, blog, blog," he said. "Mew," said Mr. Bosley, the orange tabby-cat. He jumped up on to Georges lap. "Now now," said George, placing the cat back on the ground. "I've got to work." "Mow." Mr. Bosley hopped up again. "Oh, all right then," said George. He pet the cat and stared at the colorful, wordless screen. The minutes counted down as he scratched the cat's ears and felt warm purrs vibrating his legs, soon his hour was up. "Well, that's today," said George. He reached to close the window. "Mrow," said Mr. Bosley, and hopped up onto the keyboard. He danced around for a moment, his paws slipping on the keys, then few off the desk and disappeared around the corner. "Dang it," said George, "Bosley, you ruffian." But when he looked at the screen his face broke into a grin. Congratulations, you've made your first post! A box in the middle of the screen said cheerfully. He clicked 'ok' and looked at his now active blog. A long string of g's followed by an e and an x now adorned his front page. "Oh Bosley," George chuckled, "you're always mucking things up." He shook his head and clicked 'new post', and began to type: You wont believe what just happened, here I am working on my new blog, and wouldn't you believe it, Mr. Bosley had to have a go at it before me! It's just like him, sticking his nose in everything I'm doing. Why, if I were to sit and stare at the tub long enough, I bet he'd jump right in, even if it were full to the brim with cold water! But look at those letters he typed, I wonder if its some kind of cat language... *Blogging is writing words (any words), then pressing 'post'. Be you cat or human or other. * |
| JAN 31 - Conclusion Keddan sat on a simple cot in the empty cell, holding his head in his hands. The walls were clean, plain white. A single light embedded in the ceiling lit the small area. A camera next to the light monitored his every move. There was nothing too look at, nothing to do. At least they keep it clean, he thought. Even the clean, pressed jumpsuit they'd given him was white. His hand found it's way to the empty spot at his chest where his wedding ring should be. Trying to stop them taking it had earned him a bruised rib and a bloody lip, which they had then cleaned expertly. He'd been interrogated for hours about Ammel's death. They had fingerprints, the record of him checking in, pictures of them together (he wondered how they got those), and they alluded at even more evidence that they weren't sharing. Now, three days later, he was starting to think he was screwed. And still no sign of anyone from the GTG. He heard the buzz and clack of the door unlocking and jumped to his feet, putting his hands on his head. The door opened and a thin man in a dark brown suit entered. He held a briefcase in one hand, and a folding chair in the other. Keddan saw a guard just outside wave the man in, then the door closed. The man squinted at Keddan through frame-less spectacles and gave a slight nod of approval. He unfolded the chair in the center of the room and sat in it. "Hello Mr. Murdoc," the man said. "I would like a moment of your time, if that's all right. You may call me Mr. Alice." "Yeah, sure," Keddan scanned the man for any sign of a weapon, finding none. The man looked too frail to be of any physical threat. "Good." Alice gave another nod. "You may sit." Keddan sat back down on the cot. "Are you a lawyer?" The man opened the briefcase in his lap and looked down into it, a bald spot on his head glinted beneath the thin, grease-colored hair combed over the top of it. "Mr. Murdoc," he said without looking up. "You are being kept here under charges of murder and fleeing a crime; they are going to put you away for years." "I didn't do it." "Of course." Mr. Alice shaped his mouth into a smile. "Regardless, you will be found guilty. You will spend near the rest of your life in a room similar to this." He gestured loosely. Keddan thought of his Selina, waiting for his call. It had already been days with no contact from him. How would she feel after months? Years? "Or?" he said, his hand straying to his neck, feeling for the absent chain. "Yes, or." Alice's smile seemed genuine this time. "Or you can accept my offer, and be free in a matter of months." He closed the briefcase, still holding it in his lap, and set a thin tablet on top of it. He drummed his fingers on it once, his eyes studying Keddan's face. "You're not from GTG," Keddan said. This 'Mr. Alice' was calm, relaxed. He did not have the intense, intimidating aura that every GTG goon Keddan had encountered always had. Yet there was a sense of power there, a clear confidence behind those squinted eyes. "No. I'm a representative of StratCo Industries." Keddan struggled to keep his face calm. If the GTG was framing him because of some supposed knowledge about this very company, was this man here for the same reason? To prevent him from talking? "Not a lawyer, then," he said. "No," Alice said, picking up the tablet. "I'm a... recruiter, of sorts. And you can leave with me, right now; all you have to do is sign this." Keddan took the tablet. The screen was covered in paragraphs thick with incomprehensible legalese. At the top was a logo: a stylized mountain range, and the words 'StratCo Industries Release Program: A Better Way'. He scrolled down through several pages and saw a spot for him to scan his thumb-print at the bottom. "What is this?" he asked. "Sign it, and you will be taken immediately to an undisclosed location, and set to work mining anti-matter globes. When you have met a quota, you will be released with no record of any crime, and no record of any involvement with StratCo." Alice folded his hands. "It is back-breaking labor, and you will most likely die." Keddan's hands sweated on the tablet. Anti-matter globes. In the past century they'd been discovered deep beneath the surface of particularly hot planets. In some unknown way, specks of antimatter were trapped within globes of artecium, a highly magnetic metal. Microscopic amounts of antimatter sat floating in the center, and if disturbed caused massive explosions. Mining it with machinery was out of the question, each piece had to be carefully collected by hand. It was the most efficient and expensive fuel in the world. The weapons in his ship had contained, in total, perhaps a billionth of a gram of it. "An artecium mine," Keddan said. "Is it on Raylah?" "It's an undisclosed location," Alice said without missing a beat. "I'm supposed to mine anti-matter?" Keggan tried to imagine crawling through the hot crevices beneath the surface of some foreign planet, chipping away at rocks, searching for the black magnetic globes. "It's the most dangerous job in existence, no one does it unless..." "Unless they have no other choice," said Alice. "Years of rotting, or months of working. It is your decision, of course." Keddan thought of Selina, waiting for him. What would she tell his daughter or son? What would his kid think of him? Would they ever know what had become of him? "I have a request," he said. Alice's eyes narrowed. "You are not exactly in a position to make requests, Mr. Murdoc." "The people here took something valuable from me. A ring. I want it back." He tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked with desperation. Alice smiled and gave a slow nod. "Of course, your possessions will be returned to you." Keddan let out a long breath and closed his eyes, thinking of Selina. He pressed his thumb onto the tablet. (sorry this isnt really a conclusion, but the end to a prequel. Look forward to the story I'll be writing about Keddan's further adventures!) |
| JAN 30 --- Suspects surrounding the dead ______________. Keddan was directed into the back of the sedan, his mind still foggy from the explosion. The door shut and the car began moving before he even thought to protest. The windows were darkened so he couldn't see out side, a screen blocked him from seeing the driver. A man sat on either side of him in the back seat, their bulky shoulders pressing against him. "Are you from-" "Yes we're from the GTG Mr. Murdoc," said the man to his left. "We need to ask you some questions before you are handed over to the police." "The police!" "You are wanted for questioning regarding the death of Ammel Pim," the man continued. "But I didn't-" "What is your relation to her?" "We were just friends," said Keddan. His throat tightened as he remembered the first time they met, in a trashy bar in Stiltown, both trying to sell weapons to the same drug-lord. "Friends that fuck each other?" the man snapped. "What?" "Does Project Purg mean anything to you?" "No, I-" "Raylah? StratCo? Richard Burming?" "I, uh... no." Adrenaline burned in Keddan's chest. Raylah, a planet in the outer Void sector, had been mentioned by Ammell that night, and so had StratCo. He remembered now, something about a project going on there that involved StratCo's mining operation, and the GTG providing some kind of illegal supplies. But everyone knew the GTG transported illegal goods, they just had to pay the authorities to look the other way. Unless it were something no one would want to look past. The man smirked at Keddan's delayed reaction, and folded his arms. "Tell us what you know, and this will go easier for you." "I don't know anything, and even if I did, I don't give a shit. I've done enough shady deals in my day to know when to look the other way." "Not good enough." "But I-" The car jerked to a halt. "We'll see you again in a week or so, and see if you're ready to talk then. Have fun with the local authorities." The door opened and the man to his left pulled him out of the car, then got back in. The Sedan sped away, and Keddan found himself standing on the street in front of the hotel. Two police vans were parked nearby. He turned around and started walking as steadily and calmly as he could manage. But it wasn't ten steps before he heard shouting and pounding footsteps behind him. He stopped, and held up his hands. |
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