Another day, another 2,000 words...

I am down to just over 6,000 words left in the current Next Big Job™.

There would appear to be a glimmer at the end of the tunnel.


Cheers...

LJ F&R 0: Introduction

I was sound asleep when the phone rang. I picked up the handset.

"Uhh.. yeah?" I began, and remembered to say "Hello?"

I was rewarded by a scratching sound that ended in a hiss, followed by the subtle, short rustling sound a cigarette makes when it's lit. I was well acquainted with that sound, but I was still half asleep.

"Hello?" I repeated. "Sam? Is that you?"

"The one and only, at your service," came Sam Spade's voice over the line, followed by the sound of a deep drag. "How's tricks?"

"You caught me asleep, Sam," I said, and then I realized something.

"You're calling me?" I said. The realization pushed me completely awake. "What's going on?"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," said Spade. "I simply figured turnaround is fair play, what with all the times you've called me in the past," he said. "As it turns out,..."—and here there was a pause while my interlocutor did something that made the sound of fingernails being brushed over a five-o'clock shadow—"... I need your help."

"Well, to the extent I can help a fictional character from a book released in 1930," I said, "I'm all ears."

Spade gave a short chuckle and lit another cigarette.

"It's like this," he said. "I have a case coming up that will probably require me to work in a team with some other shamuses, and I figure the right thing to do is introduce myself to them."

"And...?" I said.

"And that's where you come in, old man," said Spade. "Between you and me, I have no problem trading barbs with cops like Dundy or Polhaus or telling the D.A. where to get off, but ever since the O'Shaughnessy broad bumped Miles,... well, I haven't been much of a social animal among the private gumshoes in this burg, if you get my drift."

"Usually it's me who beats around the bush," I said. "Get to the point. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want to go in there with a spiel that sounds like I cribbed it from a high school yearbook," said Spade. "I want to let people know what they're getting into if they work with me."

After a moment, I said: "I don't really know where to start, Sam. As far as your background is concerned, all I have to work with is that book about the bird and the Bogart film that came out of it."

"Fair enough," said Spade, after a brief pause. "So why don't you tell me how you'd introduce yourself to a bunch of people so as to give them an idea of what it'd be like to work with you?"

I gave the question some thought as another match was struck at the other end of the line, and then said: "Well, in my case, I'd let them know that at the beginning of the year, I had to drop out of a writing competition because I had to get an operation. And then just a couple of months ago, I had another operation that also sidelined me for a while."

I heard Sam give a whistle. "No kidding?" he asked. "You okay now?"

"It is what it is. I have to scare up a bunch of work to pay bills, so that'll be a priority. If I were rash enough to sign up for, say, another round of competitive writing, I might have to drop out at a moment's notice. I'll take it day by day. After all, in the end, we are—all of us—merely souls propping up a corpse."

"Hmmm—Marcus Aurelius quoting Epictetus," said Spade. "I didn't realize you read the Stoics."

"We're even, Sam," I said. "I didn't realize you did, either."

Another chuckle came over the line. "So, you're basically telling me I should let the other gents in the group know—what's that nutty expression you taught me?—'where I'm coming from', eh?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I said.

"Well, I'll give it some thought. Thanks for your time," said Spade. "Call me any time you need advice—and stay healthy."

"Sure thing, Sam. Will do," I said, and then we said our goodbyes and the connection was broken.