the conversation

Hey, can anyone help me turn the blog around so that the first post is last and vice versa? I know i haven't written in for a long time, but i did work on the book a few months ago and am updating that. is writing for one's own pleasure acceptable??!!

“Two years. He was a good boss. He gave me time off for exams. Now I gotta look for another job or I won’t be able to pay tuition.”
“Night school?”
“Yeah.” Glumly, I stirred my coffee. First, I lose a boss, then I have to lose my night school too. And I really wanted to be an accountant.
“Tough luck. Job-hunting is a terrible experience. I tried it once.” He shook his head to get rid of the memory. “It can really mess you up.”
“You never worked a job?” I looked up, aghast. Everyone works a job, even if it is at the local burger joint.
He appeared a little embarrassed. “Ah, well, not really, no. I mean, I could if I needed to. I went to college and all. Was on the track and field team. Made movies. I majored in business with a minor in international studies.”
“So after all this great education, you decided to become a PI?”
“Life should be interesting.”
“So are you putting major criminals behind bars? Filling a desperate desire to right wrongs in this distorted world of ours?”
“Not yet, no. Although once I helped Mr Ed keep Jack Walton from going to jail for murdering his wife.”
“I remember. They never found the killer, but Jack couldn’t’ve done it because he was busy receiving a parking ticket 20 miles away.”
“Which I detected.”
“Except Jack Walton paid Mr Ed a pittance for that case.”
“My needs are few.”
I eyed his shirt which, although now tattered, had once set him back a hundred bucks. “Yeah, right.”
He set down his cup. “Better head on down to the station now.”
We tossed the crockery into the bin, headed out.

Lourdes

“You finally get to have coffee with me,” I pointed out. “Ain’t that great!”
The green eyes shifted towards me, but I am not sure he actually saw me. “Huh..yeah, right, let’s go.”
But we couldn’t because at that moment, Lourdes stormed into the lobby. Lourdes always storms into wherever she’s going, she has this tremendous energy that has to be dissipated by more violent movements than the rest of us staid types are habituated to. But today she had a good reason for storming. She was Mr Ed’s older sister.
“Annie!” She lunged at me and threw her arms around my neck. “Annie…!” That was as far as she got before dissolving into a storm of tears.
“Ma’am,” I mumbled through the hair that enveloped me. Barely able to see, I staggered towards the plastic chairs again, Lourdes wrapped around my neck. We fell into the seats.
“Annie,” she said when she had overcome her spasms, “tell me what happened. Who could have shot poor Eddie. He never did no harm to no one. The police called me and said my brother was shot, he passed over on the spot. He always helped everyone. I always told him, ‘Eddie, you shouldn’t work for the criminals, they don’t deserve it’. But his heart was full of sympathy for them. ‘Lulu,’ he said to me, ‘they ain’t got nobody else to go to.’ So he got them out of jail. And now somebody has gone and shot him.” She dissolved once more into paroxysms of grief. I couldn’t blame her. I knew her only briefly as she passed through the small foyer of the office, saying Hi to me and carrying on with her conversation as she walked into her brother’s room.
I felt obliged to sit with her a while as she alternated between sobbing and talking about Mr Ed. The police apparently had no spare person to attend to her now that Hwang had gone, they continued to tramp importantly up and down the stairs with people in lab coats and medical gear. Eventually, her husband Miguel, a solid man preceded by a vast stomach, turned up and balanced himself on one of the chairs, holding her hand and patting her shoulder.
I really needed that coffee now. Archer had positioned himself at the foot of the stairs, lounging against the wall with thumbs in pockets, and seemed to be imbibing the snatches of conversation that passed by him. Occasionally, he idly asked someone a question or two, like he was not really interested. Maybe he wasn’t, maybe he left homicides entirely to the cops and just worked on minor matters such as divorce cases. His laidback questions did get answers though, I noticed.
I smoothed down my hair, mussed up due to Lourdes, and went up to him. “I can make it to the police station on my own, if you would like to go on ahead.”
He straightened up and took my arm. “Let’s have that coffee.”
We went to the Starbucks in the strip mall across the street. “How long have you been with Mr Ed?” he asked after we were settled with our espressos.
I was exhausted. It was long past my office hours. So for the first time since he walked into the office six months ago, I actually had a sensible conversation with him.

The Grill

“Ms Hope?” She turned to me, somewhat reluctantly. “You got anything to add?”
“Yeah.” I angled out from behind Archer’s shoulder. “It was about 5 pm. I was sitting at my desk and Mr Ed was inside his room. I can’t see inside his room when the door is closed like it is usually. He doesn’t like to be disturbed, you see?”
Hwang nodded which meant yeah-yeah-go-on.
“I think he was working on a case that was coming up later in the week. Marcia O’Dooley. She was caught at the kerbside soliciting a guy who turned out to be one of you. She was packing a few hits of the white stuff. They hauled her in ….”
Hwang waved a hand that meant blah-blah-blah. Okay, so she was not interested in Marcia O’Dooley. In my opinion, she better be interested in all that Mr Ed had done in the last few days. But I wasn’t going to tell a detective how to do her job, right?
“So then this guy came in and walked straight to Mr Ed’s door. I told him to wait because he didn’t have an appointment, and people who want to see Mr Ed usually call first. Generally it’s from inside the jail, so they don’t come in and see him, it’s him that goes to see them. But this man kept on like he hadn’t heard me and went straight inside and closed the door. Next thing I know is there are shots, and the man is running out.”
“Where does Mr Hamilton come in?” She let her eyes rest on Archer and her lips curved slightly. He has ‘that’ effect on women. That is why I don’t give him the benefit of my attention.
Naturally he smiled back, grooves bracketing the smile. I swear Hwang sighed and licked her lips.
That gave me time to beat him to the answer. “Yeah, well, he happened to walk in a moment before we heard the shots.” Brief and to the point, just the way she wanted it. So how come she didn’t look pleased.
“And what brought you to the office, Mr Hamilton?”
“Archer, please, Ma’am,” wide grin. “I was working on a divorce case for Mr Ed. I brought him some photos.”
“Anything in particular you noticed about the shooter? We will ask you to work out a portrait later. But any distinguishing features?”
“I just saw his back briefly,” said Archer. “Stocky guy. He was wearing a black jacket.”
“Medium blond hair tied in a ponytail, brown eyes, left-handed, about 5 feet 10 inches, 220 pounds. Scar on the back of his left hand like he had been in a knife fight. Wearing a diamond on his pinkie.” The images stood out in my mind. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to forget them.
Then one thing struck me. The guy knew who I was and where I was to be found. What if he came after me? “Don’t you have a witness protection program, Detective?” I quavered. “He wouldn’t want me to identify him in the court. I am the only one who saw him. He is probably part of some major crime syndicate. They may have a hit out on me this very moment.” I stood up. The chair crashed against the wall. “I need protection!”
Hwang stood too. She was a few inches taller than me. How come they let detectives wear stilettos and short skirts? Wasn’t there a dress code? Like, no make-up and no moussed hair.
“Calm down, Ms Hope. These kinds of things happen all the time. There is nothing to panic about. If we had witness protection programs for all witnesses, we’d be babysitting the whole time.” She swiveled around, was done with me. “Archer, I need you and Ms Hope to come down to the station pronto. Get her a cup of coffee and get a ride out.”
“No problem, Ma’am. I have my car.” Archer and Hwang smiled at each other some more, then Hwang strode out, leaving behind a whiff of expensive perfume and a glimpse of never-ending legs. I swear Archer sighed and drooled.

On Crime Fiction

Crime fiction - read a Kathy Reichs for the first time, was inspired by the TV series. Also borrowed an ancient Dick Francis from the library. He's the best. Last week I happened to drop into the New York Public Library, and the crime selection made me drool. Had to leave the place in a hurry before I gave in to addiction. It is actually not so easy to write one, although it appears quite effortless when other people do it. That's probable because I am not a writer but a reader of fiction. Need to graduate.

I should’ve gone to his assistance instead of taking after the killer. I should’ve left the door open while they were talking. I shouldnt’ve allowed the guy to walk in the door. I should’ve….
“You’re contaminating the crime scene,” pointed out Archer. He was at the doorway, conspicuously keeping himself away from all surfaces.
I sniffed. Maybe a tear or two rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away, careful not to contaminate the crime scene. “I was just checking to see if he needed any help. He doesn’t.”
Archer shifted a bit, looped thumbs around his pockets. “Ah… Hmm…So who was the guy?”
“Dunno. I never saw him before.” I stood, somewhat unsteadily. My legs were trembling. I slid past Archer and went back to my chair behind the desk. It seemed like the safest place at the moment.
Archer frowned and continued to question me about what had happened earlier. Jeez, I know he is hotshot PI and all, but did he have to start right away? I glowered at him. “I said I don’t know. Never saw him before. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything to me. Not everybody asks me out for a cup of coffee every time they see me,” I added nastily.
The emergency team dropped by then, and soon the whole place was swarming with cops. It was like a scene from CSI, but not really. No cameras panning from person to person, churning out flashes of imagery a part at a time. No close-ups of tiny bits of evidence being carefully placed in plastic bags. No discussions and comments from the main players. The cops talked to each other in staccato monosyllables, incomprehensible one-liners. Or maybe I was just zonked out.
They put Archer and me on two plastic chairs in the lobby of the building where curious office people milled around. Two policemen did the rounds of who had heard what and who had seen what, then they let them go one by one. It was long past office hours and most people, after a glance up the stairs where they could not see much beyond cops tramping up and down, were anxious to get home.
“Hi. I’m Detective Lucy Hwang.” Tall, slight with long slim legs and hardly any butt. “Thanks for sticking around. May I take this chair.”
She pulled a chair in front of us. “You are Annie Hope and J. Archer Hamilton..?”
Like she didn’t know. We nodded.
“So tell me how it played out. You saw the man, right?”
“We actually got in a shot. Hit him on the shoulder. I gave your guys the description of his car. If he is wise, he should be in a hospital right now.”
“You the PI?” Was this a new dumb-cop routine the police - sensitive, cooperative public servants – were supposed to display to the public?
Archer dug out his ID, flashed it at her. “We don’t know who he was or why he was meeting with Mr Ed. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything.” Hey, that was my line.

more on lead characters

annie hope sounds like a good enough name for a low self-esteem person. must check on google if this is a common name. Archer Hamilton sounds fine; the sound of a name is very important as it evokes images of a person. got the first pages done:

“Excuse me, sir,” I called out. “Mr. Eduardo is busy right now.”
The blond hulk who had just crashed through the glass door may not have heard me. I was after all sitting behind the reception desk, three feet away from the door. People tended not to notice me even when they did see me sitting there. Anyways, the blond hulk stomped across to the door, hurled it open and stomped right on into the boss’ office.
As receptionist-cum-typist for Jose Eduardo, the lawyer, part of my job description was to protect him from people who had not taken a prior appointment. Leastways, that is what I imagined it would be. In two years of working with Mr Ed, such a situation had not actually arisen.
I emerged from behind my desk and opened the door to the office.
“And when I have finished with you…”
“Ah, sir?…”
Both the occupants of the room gave me a ‘look’. “You may take the rest of the day off, Annie,” nodded Mr Ed, distractedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow after I return from court.”
“Yes, Mr Ed.” I backed out of the room and closed the door. Mr Ed had forgotten that I had not yet given him the file he needed for the court tomorrow.
Jose Eduardo was an attorney operating at the low end of the lucrative Las Vegas legal ladder. Material possessions really were of little consequence for him; he much preferred fishing in Utah to competing on fast cars and dark suits. There was plenty of work at the bottom end as Las Vegas is not just home to rich casino owners and people who do not know what better to do with their money or who possess compulsive disorders. It is also home to a supporting cast of thousands of people just trying to make a living from the entertainment industry – cashiers and policemen, typists and beauticians, taxi drivers and prostitutes. The temptations of the industry often led to crimes and misdemeanors which attorneys such as Mr Ed helped sort out.
I wondered what the blond hulk would need from Mr Ed. He hadn’t called in advance to seek an appointment, and he certainly hadn’t been begging him for help when last heard. There are plenty of hulks in Las Vegas, but they tend to have their own ways of dealing with the law which often do not involve lawyers. The hulks are backed by powerful people from the industry who keep the fast cars and dark suits going.
As I walked across to the filing cabinet, Archer Hamilton stepped in through the glass door. Archer is a hunk, long and lean and has abs, I bet, under his fitted shirt. He owns the most potent green eyes that I have ever come across and streaky dirty-blond hair that does not come from a bottle. He also has an ego the size of an eighteen-wheeler and just as solid.
Archer tends to notice people, even receptionists. “Hey, babe!” The grin brought out the grooves in his face, and the dent in his chin. I had to head for my chair. “Is Mr Ed in?”
I shuffled a few A-4s on the desk. “I’m sorry, Mr Hamilton, but he’s in a meeting right now.”
“Great!” he beamed. “So you can come down for a cup of coffee to help me wait. I need to hand him this file on Rhea Martin.”
“Just give it to me, Hamilton, and let’s call it quits for the day,” I snarled, piling the A-4s in a heap. His hundredth invitation to coffee, and I was pretty damn sick of his way of passing the time.
He leaned across my desk. I smelled the cool clean cologne on him.
“Bet you want to see Rhea Martin’s photos of getting it off with the bouncer.” He waved the brown envelope at me. “Got real cool views here. She better look into her pre-nuptial agreements.”
Two shots from behind the boss’ door.
The next second, Archer had knocked me to the floor and leapt across the desk. His handgun was already pointed at the door.
The door crashed open – did the bad guy never quietly slip through doorways? – and another shot pinged at the metal filing cabinet. Archer ducked behind it, still holding me down with one hand. He loosed off a round, but the glass door was already swinging shut.
The staircase down to the lobby and the exit was right in front of the glass door marked ‘Jose Eduardo, Lawyer’. Archer vaulted over the desk, and I scooted out from under it. As he shoved open the door, I snatched up the plastic tray from the coffee rack. The mugs clattered to the carpet.
With a wide sweep, I tossed the tray at the feet of the blond hulk leaping down the stairs. It caught him around the ankles, and he off-balanced a couple of steps. Archer got in another couple of shots and one of them twisted him around. With a howl of rage and pain, he brought his gun hand around and pulled the trigger. But we were already flat against the wall. The glass door shattered into a spray of splintered bits and disintegrated. We took cover on the floor, Archer slamming his body over mine. I felt every inch of him.
By the time Archer poked his head around the corner, the blond hulk was in his black sedan and roaring down the avenue. We saw him as we raced down the stairs and out the main door, but he turned a corner and was gone. Archer pulled out his cell and punched in 911, while I rushed back up the stairs, through the empty doorway, and to the boss’ office.
Mr Ed was lying in a heap behind his large wooden desk, the front of his white shirt now scarlet, and the blood seeping into the carpet. He was dead.
I stared at him, my boss for two years, in general a kind and considerate boss, even though he did get mad when I forgot to take messages while he was in court, a man who worked long hours for little money, and sometimes fished in Utah.

how to write a crime novel

My first blog will be about how to write a crome novel. After two decades of reading crime novels, I am surely an expert and should be able to construct plots for a series of books. Unfortunately, current crime novels are mostly police procedurals and require a high amount of gumshoeing for research. Me, I am too lazy for that. So I will need to have private eyes, something like Magnum PI or Remington Steele, my favorite re-runs.
Since my reading staple has a high proportion of romance novels, the hunk factor is very important to me.
So let's see...
Two individuals perhaps? a male and a female lead.
Emily (last name to de decided): typist, self-effacing, low self-esteem
Archer Hamilton: PI, confident, talkative
Rest as we go along