Friday, March 8, 2013
St. Patrick's Day Drawing and a new Rick Cantelli, P.I. Story
On the writing marketing front, my good friend, True Crime Author RJ Parker is hosting a St. Patrick’s Day drawing to garner reviews for our novels. The prize is a $100 Amazon gift certificate. It’s a fun deal which he’s also going to do in the UK.
I couldn’t stay away from my Rick Cantelli, P.I. short story series. His partner Lois needs to attend an aerobics class to keep her back rehabbed. She can’t get husband Frank interested, so she recruits office secretary Shelly and double teams the redoubtable Rick into going too. He knows it’s a setup to make him into a laughing stock, but he has a couple surprises. The initially humorous escapade turns into a business opportunity with Rick’s recently weird flair for attracting female attention.
The story ended up at nearly 5,000 words, and it was as usual fun to write and edit. That brought me up to over twenty thousand words for my five Cantelli tales. Rick’s doing so well in my head, he might be into novel length far sooner than I had imagined. Working on three projects at once, all very different, seems to be keeping the creative impulse flowing. The third DEMON screenplay, new HARD CASE sequel, and my Cantelli tales have been equally fun to dive around into. The only part of my writing gig that’s been missing lately is the once in a while humorous encounter at my automotive repair shop. I did get a guy who stumbled in on Tuesday morning though. I held off doing an instant blog because I thought he would be making daily ventures, but such is not the case. For this short update, my 38th Avenue street denizen will be known as Hairof The Dog.
I had just arrived at the shop around a quarter till eight, opened the big door, and started my computer in the back room. The motion detector went off at 8:15 AM. I looked up and a guy about 5’ 6” weighing around 190 lurched in the main entrance. He’s wearing shorts and a short sleeved shirt, with some kind of sandals. Mr. Dog didn’t look too good as I walked up front to greet him. His eyes were at half mast with the head tilted back slightly as if he needed to see better but didn’t want to open his eyelids any further to get the job done. It was about 48 degrees in the shop that morning. I had on three layers of clothes and a work jacket. Hairof’s nose was running, he couldn’t stay still without losing his balance, and he was so far gone I doubt he knew where the hell he was. His age was somewhere in the 40 to 55 range. It’s hard to tell in that condition. I greeted him, and he immediately tried to put a few thoughts into words. Fail!
“Yeah… I have… this wheel.” Mr. Dog begins pantomiming a circular item with shaky hands. “It… turns… and I… it goes like this… you know… ah… has this… you know...”
No, I don’t, nor would I ever. “Sir, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Do you have a car that needs repaired? This is an automotive repair shop.”
His brows knit and his lower lip juts out along with his chin. It was obvious he wanted more compassion than I had to give. Even the thought of a blog excursion wasn’t holding my attention with Hairof.
“I…I’m trying to tell you!” The Dog emphasized for me. Hairof immediately starts pantomiming a wheel again. Oh boy. “You know… a tire… on a carriage… it has… a… you know… can you do it?”
Not having a clue what he was describing in drunken detail, I had to opt out. “No sir, I don’t do that type of work.”
Hands on hips with slimy face jutted out at me to relate Mr. Dog’s incredulity at my answer, he loses his balance from being in one position too long and stumbles forward. He corrects his flight and utters an outraged, “huh?”
“Sorry, I don’t do that type of work.” I reiterate for him.
“You don’t?!” Hairof can’t believe it. The Dog is incensed I can’t fix what he has wrong.
“No Sir, I can’t help you with that.”
“Fine!” Hairof spins too fast and has to grope around a few steps in loose limbed fashion until he sees light at the door. He hunches his shoulders and plows onward to the street and around the shop corner.
For some reason the encounter did not brighten my day. The lyrics to an old ‘Blood, Sweat, and Tears’ rock song popped into my head – ‘Don’t want to go by devil… don’t want to go by demon… just want to go naturally…’