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Q: What month is the best time to pick kumquats?
A: Kumquat May.

[Chapter Four]

Cherry Street

Chapter Four



Thursday, August 11

Karen bounded up the stairs two steps at a time to Roberts' apartment. She knocked on the door
twice and let herself in.

"Justin," she called out. "You have to see this."

Justin Roberts was sitting at a dilapidated card table in his kitchen with Mark Beason, a short, thin,
red haired man with wisps of hair on his chin. An array of picture cards lay on the table between
them.

"Hey, Karen," said Roberts. "In the kitchen.

Karen rushed into the kitchen holding several newspaper clippings in her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I
didn't know you were busy," she said.

"Whoa," said Beason. "Never too busy for you, babe."

"It's okay," said Roberts. "What have you got?"

Karen glanced at Beason who was eyeing her lower body with what he considered an appreciative
smirk. She turned to Roberts and handed him the clippings. There was a sheet of yellow notepaper
on top.

"I have correlated the information about the murders," said Karen. "There are several rather
interesting similarities about the crimes and the victims."

"You mean other than they were all men, killed around here by having their throats slashed?" said
Roberts.

"No way, man," said Beason. "You got some kind of slasher about here?"

"Apparently," said Karen. "All the murders occurred between 11 P.M. and 3 A.M. All the bodies
were found in an alley or within a few feet of an alley; and when they weren't found in the alley,
fresh blood was found there."

"Damn," said Beason. "How many of these murders have there been?"

"Four, so far," said Roberts.

"While I don't have access to the police reports and know what other similarities there might be,"
said Karen, "I have visited each of the murder sites and all the alleys lead to a late night eating
establishment like a deli or a fast food joint."

"Not restaurants?" asked Roberts.

"In one case," said Karen. "But in each case there is at least one place where you can just walk in
and get something to eat or a cup of coffee late at night. A place where you don't need reservations."

"There would be no record you were there," said Roberts.

"Exactly," said Karen.

"This is some heavy shit, man," said Beason. "Sounds like it isn't safe to be out on the streets at
night around here. Maybe I should walk you home, doll." Beason reached out his hand and stroked
Karen's leg. She pushed it away.

"I just live on the floor below," said Karen. "Besides you are more the slasher's type. He only kills
men."

"No shit," said Beason.

"You know," said Roberts, "Mr. Hormone here might have a point. It may not be a good idea for
you to get so wrapped up in all this, going to the crime scenes and all."

"I'm careful," said Karen. "I don't go at night. And the police have already removed their tape.
Besides, people show up all the time, leave flowers, take pictures."

"Just be careful," said Roberts.

"Yeah," said Beason. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
Karen didn't bother looking at Beason. She had a pretty good idea of what he was doing right them,
winking or flicking his eyebrows, probably.

"I also looked at similarities among the victims," said Karen. "All of them were from out of town,
they were with women they met here, not their wives..."

"Hookers," said Roberts.

"Probably," said Karen. "All been drinking heavily, and, if you read between the lines of the news
accounts, they were abusive and arrogant."

"What you say?" said Beason. "This some kind of feminazi serial killer?"

"I wouldn't put it that way," said Karen. "But obviously it is someone who has an issue with abusive
men."

"I don't know if it's obvious," said Roberts. "Maybe he doesn't like drunks, or men who date
hookers, or maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and attracted the killer
because they were drunk and loud."

"Yeah," said Beason. "Maybe it's the pimp what's doing it. Doesn't like his whores freelancin'."

Karen gave the red-haired man a look of disgust.

"You found some connections." said Roberts. "Where does that get us?"

"I don't know," said Karen. She ran her fingers through her hair. "I didn't find anything in
Edelson's about a dark angel with dominion over abuse to women."

"It could be something more generic," said Robert. "You know, like rage. It's just manifesting as
rage against abusive men."

"Dark angel?" said Beason. "You think some kind of angel's doing this?"

"Karen saw something," said Roberts, "that makes her think the killer might be a man with, ah,
wings."

"Wings!" said Beason who then guffawed. "Man, I thought you guys were serious."

"I am serious," said Karen.

"A serial killer with wings," said Beason, still laughing. "Swoops down on his victims like a
demented Batman, I bet."

"It's not so implausible," said Roberts.

"Waspman!" cried Beason, bringing his left hand down hard on the table, scattering cards and
sending a few fluttering to the floor.

"There have been several recorded instances," said Roberts, "of people seeing winged humans or
demi-humans."

"Yeah, in comic books!" said Beason.

"Look," said Karen. "I didn't see anyone with wings. What I saw was an image on a wall, like the
shadow of something. But when I went back later, it was gone."

"I think it was an ectoplasmic discharge that discolored the wall," said Roberts. "Faded over time
which accounts for it not being there when we went back to check."

"You two are bats, you know that?" said Beason. He stood and put a hand on Karen's shoulder.
"But in your case, sweetheart, I'd be willing to overlook it."

Karen shrugged off his hand and backed away. Roberts stood and moved between them.

"I think maybe you should go, Mark," said Roberts.

"Yeah, well," said Beason, "this game is pretty fuxored as it is." He picked up two cards from the
table and dropped them to the floor. "I'll leave you two detectives to your waspman."

Roberts followed Beason to the door. In a lowered voice Beason said, "You getting any of that?"

"Well, you know," said Roberts.

"Are you sure it's worth it?" said Beason. "You know I'd hit it, but these crazy ones can be trouble.
Know what I mean, man?"

"I hear you," said Roberts.

Roberts closed the door and walked back to the kitchen. Karen was picking cards off the floor and
putting them on the table.

"Maybe I was just seeing things," said Karen.

"I believe you," said Roberts. "Mark is just, you know. He's a great guy for playing games, but
when it comes to the occult, he's strictly a brick."

"I've been beating on this stuff for four days," said Karen, "doing the research in my spare time, and
I am not one step closer to figuring it out."

"Why don't you take a break?" said Roberts. "Get away for a while, take the weekend off. My
brother's got a boat up on Lake Madison. We could go up there, just hang out on the water."

"Thanks," said Karen, "but I've got to work this weekend. There's some big book fair in New York
and everyone's going to be off buying so I'm stuck minding the shop."

"Maybe some other time," said Roberts.

"Sure," said Karen, "that'd be great. Say, thanks for listening to me babble. If it weren't for you, I'd
really be going nuts."

"No problem," said Roberts. "Any time. My door is always open."

Roberts closed the door after Karen. He picked up the rest of the cards and tossed them on the
table. Took a can of soda out of the refrigerator and downed a swig. "Maybe some other time."
"Sure, that'd be great." Roberts smiled as he imagined what Karen would look like in a bikini
sitting on the prow of his brother's boat, her hair streaming behind her, as he took her to that special
secluded cove his brother had shown him last year.

Yeah, pretty good. I like it. But, ah, how do you account for Al Gore?

So I decided. ,ÄúIf I can choose my own reality, why the hell should I stick around this place, where the sheer amount of negativity is enough to choke a horse?,Äù

<snip>

As for you other assholes, I,Äôm done.  See ya.  And no, I,Äôm not finishing LMNO-PI.  What,Äôs the point?

please come back, we miss you

LMNO? LMNO? Who was that again? I seem to vaguely remember the
name, but I can't place the avatar. Was he the pirate or the ninja?

I think I'm going to quit my job, and throw caution to the wind.  I'll do what I want to do.  It's okay.

this is the correct answer.

this is the correct answer.

I pegged Efrim as Burning Trees a long time ago.
But what do I know?

Not as much work as it seems. Copy and Paste is your friend; along
with Find and Replace.

BTW, In Somnis Veritas means "In dreams there is truth."
Just thought you'd like to know.

[Chapter Three]

Chapter Three



Tuesday, August 9


For this one, you will have to click here.


Apologies to Bella, but your sweet little icon didn't seem appropriate.

P.S.  If you think this message was not for you, read it again.  It probably was, unless you're Bella or the Gnome.

Wow.  You really like to kiss ass, don't you?

Expertly. And I thought the subscription to the Cookie-of-the-Month
Club was a nice touch.

::Passes the pitcher of margaritas with the insciption "xxx Khan" to Bella::

Illumination is when someone shines a torch in your ear.
Enlightenment is when you're the torch.

Question, are you a Brit describing a battery operated light, or an American describing a flaming piece of wood, or some other kind of person describing some other sort of thing    

AHA! Another slip and we get closer to ascerning the true identity of
the man in the triangly hat! Alert DHS!

For his next trick, he will tell us all how to solve the world's economic problems.  Based on this little screed, it will probably involve tax cuts to the rich, and no bid contracts to Halliburton.  The wisdom of Richard Perle and Paul Wolfowitz will probably figure into it, as well.

OMG! Zurtok Khan is Prickley! We better keep this from fluffy. She still
has that butcher knife.

Oh, I definitely think you could get published. It is a lot of work. Hard
work. Don't kid yourself about that. But, as a publisher friend of mine
told me, the problem with most writers is that they give up too soon.

Perserverance and patience. And the willingness to improve. You should be
able to look back at stuff you wrote a year or two ago and see things
that you should have done better. You should be able to see that you are
better now than you were back then. If you can't, and you are still not
published, then you need to get more instruction.

But my publisher friend also says one of the problems with writers is that
they don't know when to stop on a story. They keep working it and working
it to death.

The big secret is to just keep writing. Regardless of what you are writing,
just keep writing.

I would point out that one of the advantages of getting criticism from a
paid, subscriber site, is that many markets consider posting something
there to not be a first publication while posting on a free site is.
I.E., they will not buy something they know has been posted on a free
site and will buy something posted on a restricted site. Most of the
top sf and fantasy mags have bought stuff posted on the site I linked.

Posting stuff here or at other "free" sites does constitute first publication
and therefore magazines that only buy first publication rights will not buy
your story if they are aware of this. (If they find out after the fact, they will
never buy from you again, regardless.). Also publishing here exposes
you to the insidiouos "copyleft," i.e. everyone feels free to rip you off and
post your stuff anywhere they want.

However, most writers have to spend a lot of time writing stuff and
getting critiques before they start to sell stuff. In the beginning you need
decent criticism more than copyright protection. So only post where you
get good feedback. When the sff workshop was free (sponsored by
Del-Rey) most of the critiques were useless. Now that it costs, only
writers who are serious post there and the critiques are infinitely
better.

And gnomes live in holes in the ground, you know.

Do you want critiques? I am usually rather critical.

You might check out the SFF Workshop. It costs a bit, but if you are
serious about writing, it can be a great tool.

http://sff.onlinewritingworkshop.com/

Make it go away.